l 




a^J^JARU 



Book ix 







ILffiffilPiEIBft 



TO AN 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 



DESIGNED TO RELIEVE THE 



DIFFICULTIES OF A FRIEND, 



UNDER 



SERIOUS HVIPRESSIONS, 



BY T. CHARLTON HENRY, D. D. 

Late Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, Charleston, S. C. 



CHARLESTON i 

OBSERVER OFFICE PRESS, 



SOLD BY CROCKER & BREWSTER, BOSTON — JOHN P. HATEtf, IT. I'ORg- 
ANP E. LITTELL, PHILADELPHIA, 

1827, 



<*^ x 



e> 



l\\6 






<& 



DISTRICT OF SOUTH-CAROLINA, 

( /r ^^\ BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the Twenty-Seventl* 
>L. S. ^ day of October, A. D. 1827, and in the 52d year of the In- 
Vv^/v^/y dependence of the United States of America, the Rev. B. 
Gildersleeve of the said District, deposited in this office the title of 
a Book, the right whereof he claims as Proprietor, in the words follow- 
ing to wit : — 

"Letters to an Anxious Inquirer, designed to relieve the difficulties of 
& Friend under Serious Impressions. By T. Charlton Henry, D. D. 
late Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, Charleston, S. C." 

In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United States, entitled 
" An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of 
Maps, Charts and Books to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies 
during the times therein mentioned" — And also an Act, entitled " An 
Act supplementary to an Act, entitled ' An Act for the encouragement 
of learning by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books to the 
Authors and Proprietors of such copies during the times therein men- 
tioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the Arts of Designing 
and Etching historical and other prints." 

JAMES JERVEY, District Clerk, 



fhsf 



t 



PREFACE BY A FRIEND. 



The work of superintending- (he Printing of this Volume, was inters 

ropted by the sudden death of its beloved and lamented Author. A 

space of a few pages, having been left for a dedication and preface which 

were not prepared, must now be occupied by a brief Memoir of this emi- 

'*" nent Minister of Christ, of whose talents and devoted piety, the following 

- Work will be one among many of the precious memorials. 

THOMAS CHARLTON HENRY was born September 22, 1790, in 
*"* the City of Philadelphia. He was the eldest son of Alexander HeN- 
jiy, Esq. the benevolent and venerated President of the American Sun- 
day School Union. Originally intended for enlarged mercantile pur- 
-r.its, the subject of this account went through an unusually extended 
course of literature, and took his first degree with distinguished repu- 
tation at Middlebnry College, Vermont, in August, 1814. Immediately 
upon his graduation, the most tempting and splendid prospects of af- 
fluence and distinction invited his entrance upon a secular career ; but 
;ivi:ig felt the power of renewing grace, and having devoted himself 
to the Saviour, while at the College, he '' conferred not with flesh and 
blood," but unhesitatingly embraced the laborious and self-denying 
profession of the Christian Ministry. Accordingly, he entered upon a 
course of Theology in the Seminary at Princeton, N. J. which was 
finished in 1816, and he received license to preach the Gospel. On his 
first entrance into the Ministry, his rare endowments and polished elo, 
quence attracted uncommon attention, and opened before him, several 



IV. PREFACE. 

very important and inviting fields of labour. Having received, and 
ultimately declined, invitations to the pastoral care of churches in Wil- 
mington, Delaware ; Salem, Mass. and Lexington, Ken., he finally ac- 
cepted the unanimous call of the Presbyterian Church in Columbia, S. 
C, where he was ordained and installed, by the Presbytery of Harmo- 
ny, in November, 1818. Upon the sacred duties of a Pftstor, Mr. Hen- 
ry entered with a deep and solemn impression of responsibility, and 
an unwavering determination to pursue a course of untiring labour 
and unyielding fidelity. Taking a decided ground in defence of vital 
experimental religion; urging the doctrines of the Cross upon the con- 
sciences of his hearers, with the demonstration of the Spirit and with 
power ; carrying his great work of winning souls to Christ, to the fre- 
quent prayer-meeting, the domestick circle, and the individual expos- 
tulation : — the result was such as might have been anticipated. The 
church rejoiced in spiritual prosperity, many were convinced of guilt 
and danger, and yielded to the influence of renewing grace ; while many 
others clustered round the standard of determined opposition. Con- 
flicting necessarily with those whose views and feelings were in com- 
plete antagonism to his own, his course afforded another severe test of 
character. The temptation to temporize was strong. By softening 
the expressions of God's Word, by yielding a few points of duty, he 
might have enjoyed universal favour and applause. But he had not 
so learned Christ. Unappalled by menaces, unseduced by flattery, he 
nobly maintained his ground, and willingly submitted to the painful 
sacrifice of the kindness of former friends, in stern fidelity to his Mas- 
ter's cause. 

At the close of the 5th year of Mr. Henry's ministry in Columbia, 
he received an unanimous call from the 2d Presbyterian Church in the 
City of Charleston, which he accepted under the full belief that it was 
a station in which he could be more happy and useful than by continu- 
ing where he then was. In this important and respectable Congre- 
gation, he commenced his labours in January, 1824, and was installed 
by the Charleston Union Presbyterj^. Here, untrammelled by opposi- 
tion, and surrounded by an united and affectionate people, he enjoyed 
a field of action, worthy of his commanding talents and holy enter- 
prize. Seldom has there been presented a imbler model of pastoral 



PREFACE. \j. 

activity and fidelity ; and seldom has there been witnessed a more of- 
fectual accomplishment of the grand purposes of the Christian Minis- 
try. In the stated services of the Pulpit, and the crowded Lecture 
Room ; in the Bible Class and Sunday School, in every family of his 
charge, and in the privacy of individual inquiry, his full soul was 
poured forth in affectionate, earnest instruction, and ardent supplica- 
tion. Nor was the harvest long delayed. In the first and second 
years of his brief ministry, considerable additions were made to the 
church ; but in the third, a blessed effusion of the Holy Spirit was 
enjoyed, and a goodly company of his spiritual children was gathered 
to the communion of the faithful. 

The indefatigable labours and constant solicitude of Dr. Henrv, du- 
ring this precious season, so far impaired his health as to render a pe- 
riod of relaxation indispensable. He therefore undertook a voyage to 
Europe, and embarked for Liverpool in April, 1826. 

During the four or five months of his stay in Europe, he travelled 
through the principal parts of Great Britain and Ireland, and visited 
the Continent. Several weeks were spent both in Paris and London. 
This tour was attended bj r many very interesting circumstances, and 
produced important results. His mind "was intensely engaged. His 
heart and hands were constantly full. In accumulating valuable facts 
and observations, in closely observing national character, and in ob- 
taining accurate and enlarged views of the present state of Religion, 
Literature and Science, in different nations, his diligence and success 
have been rarely equalled. Amid all these varied scenes, the great 
business of his life was not intermitted. Whether on the mighty deep, 
or on the rapid journey, or in the crowded city ; he ceased not to 
plead the cause of his Redeemer, and to persuade men to be recon- 
ciled to God. In Paris, he became intimate in a circle of devoted 
Christians, some of very high rank, who were greatly delighted and 
edified by his sermons and conversation. In London, his whole soul 
was engaged in viewing (he vast operations of Christian benevolence, 
and in intimate association with eminent evangelical Ministers, and 
the best religious society. Here he preached frequently ; and in one 
of the large dissenting churches, he delivered several familiar evening* 



VI. PREFACE. 

lectures, which were attended by crowds, and afforded the highest s*» 
tisfaction. 

The high estimation, in which Dr. Henry was held in Europe, is 
evinced, by the solicitations for correspondence he received from nu- 
merous distinguished Civilians as well as Clergymen, and by the many 
valuable presents and memorials of kindness, which were pressed upon 
him both by individuals and communities. A considerable collection 
of books, which he had bespoken from a Booksellex*, was paid for by 
one of the London Churches, entirely without his previous knowledge. 
But the richest blessing of his tour was the testimony he received, that 
several of the attendants on his preaching, and of the companions of 
his travels, had been brought, through his instrumentality, to a saving 
experience of renewing" grace. 

About the beginning of October he took a sorrowful leave of his 
English friends, and sailed for the United States. Arriving at Phila- 
delphia, he paid a short visit to his venerable Father and numerous 
relatives, destined, alas ! to prove a final one on earth, and early in 
December, was welcomed, with the greatest joy, by his affectionate 
congregation. With redoubled vigour and engagedness, he re-entered 
upon his labours among his beloved people, and upon the prosecution 
of his studies. The latter, indeed, had known no interruption. For 
in no part of life, probably, had the acquisition of knowledge been so 
rapid, or intellectual exertion so unremitting and successful, as during 
ibis season of relaxation. The effect produced upon Dr. Henry's 
mind, by surveying the splendid Theological establishments, the vast 
treasures of sacred literature, and the towering eminence of many of 
the scholars and divines of the Old World, was altogether beneficial 
and animating. Instead of being disheartened and sinking into des- 
pondence, by a comparison of our institutions in these respects with 
those of Europe, as has been the case with others ; he was stimulated 
to nobler efforts, and refreshed by higher hopes. The inspiring scenes, 
he had witnessed in the religious world, caused a more intense convic- 
tion of the moral grandeur and awful responsibility of the Gospel Mh> 
istry. The noble achievements of the learned champions in defence of 
the Gospel abroad, disclosed to his mind more distinctly than ever, the 
grand field of intellectual effort, and enkindled an inconceivable ar- 



PREFACE. Ml. 

dour, to do extensive and permanent good in the world. He felt that 
the standard of clerical learning and study was too low in this country ; 
and fully imbibed the spirit of that holy man, whose maxim was — " at- 
tempt great things, and expect great things." 

While, therefore, he remitted nothing of his former attention to pas- 
toral duty, he devoted himself, with extraordinary zeal and diligence, 
to laborious study and composition. He pressed forward, as under the 
constant impression, that he had much to do, which must be accom- 
plished, and that his time was short. The following work, undertaken 
at the special request of an English Gentleman who was his travelling 
companion for some time, was commenced soon after his return. And 
towards its completion, he could not have laboured more unremittingly, 
had he foreseen, that, before its publication, his opportunities of use- 
fulness to his fellow men would be closed forever. " Blessed is that 
servant who is found so doing." The Messenger, which came from 
his Divine Master, to summon him away from all his labours, found 
him in the midst of most active and useful engagements. But his 
work was done. It is the Lord's doing and marvellous in our eyes- 
It is the duty of wounded affection to bow down in silence before the 
inscrutable mystery of this dispensation. 

On the appearance of that fatal scourge of Charleston, the Yellow 
Fever, in August, Dr. Henry could not be persuaded, that it was his 
duty to retire from the city, or intermit his usual pastoral visits or his 
course of study. Accordingly he continued to visit the sick and af- 
flicted, and to fdl his pulpit regularty, until the first of October, when, 
in the enjoyment of perfect health, he was suddenly seized with that 
dreadful malady, which, in four days, terminated his precious life, at 
^he early age of 37, leaving a bereaved widow and three children to 
lament the loss of such a husband and father as few ever had to lose. 
The scenes of overwhelming distress, which attended and followed this 
agonizing event, cannot be adequately described. Suffice it to say,. 
;hat amid the alarm and consternation occasioned by his fatal illness, 
he alone was calm and unappalled. While around him were wailings 
and lamentations, his expiring voice was employed in rejoicing and 
praise. And while a " horror of great darkness" fell upon, others, at 



Vlli. PREFACE. 

his sudden and premature departure ; he viewed it with rapture, as the 
bright and cloudless dawning of immortal glory. 

Dr. Henry was richly endowed with the gifts of nature. In person, 
noble and attractive — in manner, polished and affable. He possessed 
in an eminent degree, as to voice, look and action, the attributes of a 
finished orator. In classical and theological learning, he had few 
equals of his own age and country. To a critical knowledge of the 
ancient languages, he added a correct acquaintance with several modem 
ones. Especially with the originals of Holy Scripture, and the wri- 
tings of the Fathers, he was quite familiar. In a word, he was an ho- 
nour and ornament to his profession — an accomplished divine. His 
devoted zeal for the souls of men, and his pure evangelical sentiments, 
will be most aflectingly disclosed by the present volume, and one or two 
other posthumous publications. His inestimable worth as a Pastor is best 
attested by the heart breaking, inconsolable grief of his bereaved con- 
gregation. But the crowning excellence of his character consisted in 
an entire self-consecration, with all his endowments and energies, to 
the blessed Redeemer, and a deep experience of the power of religion. 
Thus he was rendered a rich blessing in his life, and richly blessed in 
his death. And when every earthly hope was extinguished, a light 
from above irradiated the valley of death's shadow, and he could enter 
It saying, " O death, where is thy sting, grave, where is thy victory !" 



COmTH'SSTg. 



LETTER I, 

Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying serious ifla* 
pressions — The critical state of an awakened sinner-*— 
An instance of abandoned convictions — Advice. 



LETTER II. 

Mistaken views — Danger of reliance on feeling — The duty 
of avoiding unnecessary association with the World- 
Counting the cost — On the opposition of others — A mel- 
ancholy instance — Advice — An instance of the happy 
effects of Christian prudence — Discouragements from 
luke-warm Christians — The folly of relinquishing the 
subject in consequence of external difficulties — Encou* 
ragement. 



X. 

LETTER III. 

Those difficulties which are of least importance most gen- 
erally discouraging — Impatience arising from disappoint 
ted expectations — A complaint — Its causes — The dread 
of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — Evils arising 
from natural buoyancy of feeling — Difficulty in the doc- 
trine of Election — Inclination and despair aid each 
other — "I am seeking," a false plea — " I am waiting for 
a day of power" — " I am waiting for God to do his part." 

LETTER IV. 

Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay — Any delay or 
suffering the fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to the 
necessity of a certain preparatory process — Scripture ex- 
amples — Error relating to prayer — " I am not prepared" — 
ss I am not holy enough" — The inconsistency of the com" 
plainer — On insensibility — Want of clear views of sin — 
Degrees of conviction not necessary to be observed — Why 
conviction is more difficult to be effected in a man of 
strict morality — The Gospel invites without reference to 
the degree of conviction. 

LETTER V. 
Complaint of irresolution — Nature of unstable resolutions — 
Peculiarity of situation — The folly of speculating on the 
expected change — Vain fancies — " God will not pardon 
me." — " I do not see how the promises can be fulfilled in 
myself" — The sufficiency of pardon — Advice. 

LETTER VI. 

Our propension to extremes — Unpardonable sin — Explana- 
tion of passages relating to it— An example of the dan- 
ger of error on this subject. 



XI. 

LETTER VII. 

fhe disposition to discouragement — Discouraging texts in 
the Bible — An explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. i. 
88 — Hebrew, xii. 17 — Hosea, iv. 17. 

LETTER VIII. 

Perplexity in reading the word of God — Complaint of the 
want of personal application — Natural aversion to the 
Bible — Mistaken expectations — An impious practice — 
Failure arising from listlessness in reading — Want of 
consideration — Forgetting that God is the author — Look* 
ing for an extraneous something — How the Spirit imparts 
the right meaning — Duty of becoming familiar with the 
plan of salvation — Caution relative to reading other 
books — Concluding advice. 

LETTER IX. 

The folly of spending time in attempting to reconcile dif- 
ficult passages — The duty of diligence in examining the 
proper application of the truth — The question, " what part 
of the Bible shall I read ?" — Quotations — Application of 
a Parable — A personal appeal to Christ directed in Scrip- 
ture — Conclusion. 

tiA 

LETTER X. i 

On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel — A com- 
plaint of the Inquirer — One of tlie marks of right de- 
sires — >A misinterpretation of Romans, ix. 3 — Right,.de- 
sires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of—an 
awakened sinner — Reformation of life connected with 
sincerity— And the spirit of forgiveness on our part — 
Right desires not fitful — Trials — Advice. 



XII. 

LETTER XL 

Difficulties in prayer— Causes — Mistake respecting the na- 
ture of prayer — Contusion in the mind of the Inquirer — 
False anticipations in prayer — Perplexity from an igno- 
rance of the person addressed — Directions in prayer — 
The duty of describing personal trials — Habit of atten- 
tion — Remedy for wandering thoughts — Application of 
special promises — Scriptural examples — Seasons for 
Prayer — Ejaculatory desires — Forms — Does God " ever 
withhold his Grace, for a season, to try the sinner 1" — An- 
swered. 

LETTER XII. 

A common error adverted to again—An evil from Theology 
ical distinctions — Different kinds of repentance — The 
Scriptural distinction — Sorrow does not constitute repen^ 
tance — The perversion of legal sorrow to a false hope — 
Examples — The error reproyed in Scripture — Its cause- 
Causes leading to repentance — The process — Evangeli- 
cal sorrow follows — Difference between counterfeit and 
true repentance- — Conclusion. 

LETTER XIII. 

An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable pe- 
riod in his life — The simplicity of faith — A temptation 
to hold back from Christ — Natural incredulousness — 
The afflicted Father's application to Christ — The case 
applied to the Inquirer — The workings of the Inquirer's 
mind — His surrender to Christ — The change — Difference 
in different cases — The act in which relief most corn- 
monly arrives-^Not always the same— Valedictory. 



m^&OBWO^EOBfc 



While the Religious Public have been weii pro- 
vided with Doctrinal and Practical works, and 
furnished with many valuable expositions of the 
Word of God ; and while the divine system of 
Christianity itself has been ably defended against 
the cavils of its assailants, it is a matter of sur- 
prise to many, that a most interesting department 
of sacred literature has been either entirely neg- 
lected, or occupied by remarks of so general a 
nature as to answer very imperfectly the end for 
which thev were designed. 1 refer to that de- 
partment of instruction which is suited to the 
particular exigences of a Religious Inquirer, or an 
Awakened Sinner. 



XIV. INTRODUCTION. 

There is certainly no state of mind which in- 
volves more interest in its issue, or presents a 
more imperative claim on our sympathies, or 
brings more effectually into exercise our hopes 
and our fears, than that of the man who has been 
partially aroused from the slumber of spiritual 
death, and looks around him with an agitated 
feeling, to ask— " what shall I do to he saved ? w 

To excite the conscience to at least a momen- 
tary activity, is very often far more easy than to 
meet that class of perplexities and cares to which 
such an excitement may lead. And hence we 
see many who find it no hard task to point the 
penalty of the law to the heart of the sinner, and 
to bring in array before him the terrors of an 
offended God ; and yet whose whole instructions 
to one in this interesting state, are so vague, and 
so ill-defined, as to shed no light upon his path, 
and to give him no clear conceptions of his real 
condition. 

Two things strike an observer of the awaken- 
ed sinner, and call for all the prudence and cau- 



INTRODUCTION. XV, 



tion with which advice or counsel may be given : 
These arc — bis difficulties and his dangers. 

Among the difficulties of which he is ready to 
complain, is that of the want of something suita- 
ble to his own peculiar state. We follow Apostol- 
ic example when we recommend him to " be- 
lieve and repent." But he is not unapt to tell us 
that he requires a more explicit direction than 
this. We commend him to prayer and the 
Word of God. But even the effort to regard this 
injunction, he informs us, furnishes new cares, 
and exhibits new obstacles in his way. His ne- 
cessities muliipty, and his demands increase. 

Now it would be easy to charge much of the 
evil upon himself, and prove to him from the 
economy of grace, and the character of his God, 
that all the fault lies within his own heart ; and 
this is a melancholy truth of which we should 
not permit him to lose sight. But he returns 
from all this to ask the particular character of 
the default, its causes, and the means of its re- 
moval. 



XVI. INTRODUCTION. 

If we put into his hands any of the valuable 
little treatises which were designed to alarm the 
unconverted sinner, he may assent to the truths 
they contain ; but while his convictions are deep- 
ened, his personal difficulties are still not reached. 
There is much, very much, which remains unex- 
plained ; and which, while it lasts, multiplies 
itself: or extends through new ramifications, 
and creates new embarrassments. And his de- 
mand is more importunate than ever, for some 
instruction adapted to that idiosyncrasy of cha- 
racter, which he conceives to distinguish his pre- 
sent condition. Here is an eagerness of appetite 
which disposes him to seize, with avidity, on all 
that bears a remote resemblance to the fancied 
object of his wants. And it is to meet this, that 
any counsel we may give, should enter as far as 
possible into the familiarities of the heart. And 
yet to do so, important as it is, requires some 
further knowledge of the case than we may be 
able to obtain. 

Where the inquirer is disposed to present the 



INTRODUCTION". Xvii. 

exact state of his mind ; and where he is able to 
define his feelings, the plain good sense of a pri- 
vate Christian may enable him to say all that is 
necessary. But the inquirer is not always wil- 
ling to do the former; and he is very often in- 
competent to accomplish the latter. And yet 
indisposed, or unable, as he may be to do either, 
his solicitude is not the less to learn the grand 
serret of the causes and remedy of his moral 
disorder. 

Now if we were unable to meet this whole 
cmrstion, there is one thing which it is not out 
of our power to do — I mean that of furnishing 
to the sight of the sufferer, cases analogous 
to his own ; or cases which may possibly strike 
him as similar. 

Even where we are at a loss to account, in all 
respects, for the existence of a particular expe- 
rience, we do much for the inquirer by describing 
it. We prevent painful conclusions, which he is 
very apt to deduce from a supposed singulari- 
ty ; and we enable him to draw inferences fojf 





XVlil. INTRODUCTION. 

himself, which may preserve him from the ex- 
treme of presumption or despair. We abstract 
his attention from extraneous cares, and fix it on 
something which may give a clue to the windings 
of his heart. The sooner we can effect this de- 
sirable end, the greater probability is there of a 
favourable issue. And the longer he is detained 
from it, the greater is his hazard of fatal self- 
deception ; or of an equally fatal relinquishment 
of the interests of his soul. 

But the dangers to which the inquirer is ex- 
posed, may often be commensurate with his diffi- 
culties. And among these, not the least may be 
found in the well-meant, but injudicious advice 
of pious friends. A work, then, which will fur- 
nish Scriptural directions for different states of 
mind, consequent on the natural disposition, or 
temporal circumstances, of the awakened sinner, 
is certainly a desideratum. 

Or, if there be no hazard of a fictitious peace, 
trom such a source, it may be the lot of the in- 
quirer to be out of the reach of those to whom 



INTRODUCTION. xi\". 

he might impart his anxieties, and from whose 
experimental knowledge, relief might be obtained. 
And in sucli a dilemma it is easy to forsee that 
all solicitude may be abandoned in hopelessness ; 
recourse may be had to error ; or postponement, 
to a more favourable issue, may ensue. 

In the private musings, too, of one in such a 
state, there may be imminent danger. Not only 
from his false expectations, but from the excuses 
which he secretly gives to his conscience. Pre- 
sent disappointment induces him to look some- 
where else. And thousands in a land of Gospel 
light have given up all effort under secret pleas, 
as dishonorable to God as they are destructive to 
themselves. To enumerate these pleas, and to 
exhibit their criminality, might be an important 
engagement for one who acts as counsellor; but 
i' belongs to a field by far too large to be occu- 
pied in every instance of application for advice; 
while the particular parts in which the inquirer 
is privately wandering, may not be discerned. 
A volume, then, which would answer this end 



XX. INTRODUCTION. 

might assist the adviser, while it rendered the 
folly and inconsistency of the awakened sinner 
distinctly visible to his own sight. 

If it be asked, whether I give the following 
pages to the public, with a full confidence in their 
adaptation to remove ail these difficulties, and 
to obviate all these dangers, I answer — No. 
Well informed readers, and perhaps some who 
are not so, wili observe defects which have not 
escaped my own eye ; and possibly many which 
have not occurred to me in a hasty review. But 
although my expectations of complete success in 
this effort, are not sanguine, thev are sufficient 
to warrant the trust that it has not entirely failed. 

I am persuaded that there are few inquirers 
who will not find something to meet at least 
part of their difficulties ; and if the details which 
are given are considered too numerous and too 
particular by others, they will be the last to com- 
plain of them. Or if the nature of this work 
seemed to require some little repetition, it will be 
a small objection to one whose mind is eagerly 



INTRODUCTION. xxi. 

intent on learning all that relates to his spiritual 
condition; and who must see that the same per- 
plexity or care, sometimes arises from different 
causes. 

Part of the subjects which are discussed in this 
volume, are not thoroughly canvassed. Nor is it 
necessary that they should be. Designed as the 
work was for a certain class only, it could hardly 
be expected that ail in which the Christian is 
interested should be examined. And yet I would 
humbly hope that even the child of God may 
find something in the pages before him of in- 
terest to his own soul. 

As there are many who once belonged to the 
former of these classes, and who are now num- 
bered with neither — who have returned to the 
world after hours of anxiety for their salvation ; 
to such the recalled feelings of former days, and 
the reviewed excuses of a melancholy apostacy, 
may not be without some practical benefit. 

It may be that the examples given will be con- 
sidered too numerous. But 1 have thought that 



XXii. INTRODUCTION. 

they might be an advantageous medium through 
which some ideas would more distinctly appear. 
There is not one of them fictitious ; and, excepting 
where marked by express quotation to the con- 
trary, they have fallen under my personal obser- 
vation. And it is of small importance that the 
language put into the mouths of such examples, 
was not exactly their own. This could not be 
recollected. But a faithful adherence to the 
substance and spirit of titterings by them, has 
been inviolably preserved. 

I have availed myself of any advantage which 
I could obtain, as far as I knew, from the works 
of other authors. And where it has appeared 
necessary to do so, I have named them. But 
they have been few. I have attempted to draw 
for materials rather on the Word of God, and on 
life as I have seen it, than on the writings of 
others. 

One more remark may appear necessary. — 
The following Letters are exactly what they pur- 
port to be — written to a friend with a design to 



INTRODUCTION. XXu'l. 

assist him in his inquiries for salvation. If it be 
thought that they may be of service to some 
under similar circumstances, I shall be gratified 
in the concurrence of the hopes of others with 
my own. If not, there is some consolation, un- 
der the failure, in the thought that they were 
written with a sincere desire to aid the cause 
of religion. They are sent into the world with 
few pretensions; but accompanied, — as they 
were in the act of writing them, — with prayer in 
their behalf, to the Great Head of the Church. 

THE AUTHOR. 



BETTERS 

TO AN 



LETTER I. 

Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying serious im- 
pressions — The critical state of an awakened Sinner — - 
An instance of abandoned convictions — Advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

How shall we account for that secrecy of 
feeling which you have found it so difficult 
to infringe, and which is so common to the 
experience of awakened sinners ? That del- 
icacy which guards the threshold of religion, and 
restricts the conversation of intimate friends to 
its exterior and general matters ? Shall we at- 
tribute it to a greater degree of refinement, or 
to a nicer sense of decorum ? But it is as pre- 
valent among the ruder, as among the more pol- 
ished classes of society. Shall we ascribe it to 

4 



26 tETT£R I. 

an unwillingness to obtrude our griefs upon the 
sympathy of friends? This would be an apolo- 
gy in which fact would not sustain us ; for he to 
whom we unbosom our sorrow, is supposed to 
take a deep and unaffected interest in our spiri- 
tual welfare. And, moreover, this privacy is 
discoverable in the very man, who, instead of 
comprehending the sentiment of a Christian 
poet, that 

u with the soul who ever felt the sting 

" Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing," 

would, at other times, drag you rudely through 
all the minutiae of his private woes. Nor is a 
want of confidence the cause of this restraint — 
for every other feeling may be imparted with 
freedom. Nor can it be wholly, if at all, owing 
to the confessed etiquette of irreligious society, 
which proscribes the subject of evangelical truth, 
much as a law of Athens prohibited the name of 
Death : Nor to that disgust which arises from a 
familiar and ill-timed use of scriptural terms : 
Nor to any thing else which could furnish an 
excuse, while it implies a compliment to our re* 
finement, our taste, or understanding. 

These questions and answers, if they serve no 
other purpose, may at least lead you to the con- 
clusion that you are not alone : numberless other 



LETTER I 27 

voices utter the same complaint ; and the subject, 
in its different shapes, has given rise to a thou- 
sand discussions ; and has led to a variety of ar- 
tificial rules of Christian conduct. Professors of 
religion who sincerely desire to promote the weal 
of their friends, have frequently proposed such, 
queries as the following : — How shall I express 
my concern for one who is prepared at all times 
to interrupt me, by saying — " this is a private 
matter between God and myself;" and who feels 
that he has reason for offence in a rude invasion 
of his tranquillity ? How shall I introduce the sub- 
ject of religion in a circle where it may be received 
with symptoms of impatience, or with that listless 
silence which hints its dismission ? And after all 
that can be said, there is an art in the successful in- 
troduction of a religious topic, which is less easily 
attained than zeal — a happy tact, which even the 
profane often admire, but which requires qualities 
that long experience and fervent piety may not be 
able to confer. 

But this delicacy of feeling — we will give it 
its current title, although it belongs to that class 
of things which have wrong names, and which 
are embraced in the forbidden practice of calling 
evil good and good evil — this delicacy of feeling, 



23 LETTER I, 

which, while it forbids the obtrusion of religious 
views, lest they create offence, and shuts the lips 
of the awakened sinner, is not a rare ingredient 
in the characters of many who entertain a trust 
that they have been the subjects of saving grace. 
There are those who have sustained a long and 
tedious struggle in their hearts — who, possessing 
a faint hope that they have passed from death 
unto life, relinquish the ordinary pleasures of the 
world, and engage in all the duties which are 
fulfilled by a lukewarm professor of religion— 
except the duty of profession itself — and who, 
while they lead a cheerless life, seem not to con- 
sider that what they deem an apology for neglect, 
is the very sin which keeps them suspended be- 
tween heaven and earth, unfit for the enjoyment 
of either. 

And even after a public profession of faith has 
been made, evils are multiplied from the same 
cause : Not only when the Christian and the 
Worldling, in their ordinary interviews, consider 
the topic of religion forbidden ground to both, 
but in the discharge of many of those obligations 
which both reason and revelation enjoin. A 
valued friend once told me, that one of the most 
painful trials he had ever known, was in found- 



letter r. 29 

ing the domestic altar. On other matters he 
could speak freely ; and private devotion occu- 
pied a due proportion of his time. But the con- 
flict in his bosom was long and severe before 
he could persuade himself to become " the min- 
ister to his family." And can it be doubted that 
thousands of the rising generation retire unbles- 
sed from the restraint of parental prayer ? Or 
can it be doubted that this single neglect has 
checked the influence of many a parental ex- 
ample, which might have led the offspring to 
serious thought, if not to salvation ? 

There is another modification of this delicacy, 
which attaches suspicion to it in all its forms ; 
social intimacy is often seriously injurious to that 
Christian fellowship on which the prosperity, if 
not the life, of personal piety depends. This 
may seem a singular position, and it would be 
so but for the very matter now before us. The 
truth is one of every day's observation, that hus- 
bands and wives often converse more freely on 
the experimental points of piety, with those who 
are comparatively strangers, than with each 
other. The bond which nature has formed be- 
tween relatives, and which time has rivetted, ap- 
pears too frequently loosened, when wc find that 



30 LETTER I 

incongruous ^reluctance to converse together on 
matters of piety ; and when we have seen even 
children more ready to open their minds on this 
subject, to friends less nearly allied, than to the 
parent who has watched over them with prayer- 
ful solicitude. How is all this ? Is there some- 
thing defective in Christianity itself? or some- 
thing that changes the nature of our mutual re- 
lations ? Not at alL There may be different 
causes which produce different degrees of influ- 
ence towards these effects, but still the mover of all 
this mischief is that most secret of agents — pride. 
There is no need of defining, no need of ex- 
plaining the operation of this principle ; and it 
is wholly useless to quarrel with terms. Let 
him who speaks of this delicacy, and continues 
to foster it, examine the first feelings to which it 
gives rise : let him compare these feelings to- 
gether, and note well their selfishness; and see if 
it be possible to escape our conclusion. Yes, 
pride has its retired habits as well as modesty, 
its seemly aspect, and its very diffidence of man- 
ner. And it is hence, that among the children 
of God, the consciousness that their mutual in- 
firmities are known to each other, and the cor- 
responding fear that they might generate a dis- 



LETTER I 3] 

trust of their sincerity, very often stand in the 
way of a fulfilment of that prophecy which the 
latter days shall complete — " then they that 
feared the Lord spake often one to another." 

You have sometimes seen the mind which na- 
ture had rendered ingenuous and frank, drooping 
under cherished woes — bending beneath a weight 
it strove to conceal — mingling bitterness with 
domestic peace, and discontent with outward 
prosperity — until the hand that was about to set 
the spirit free from its tabernacle, laid bare to 
the sight the wounds that festered within ; and 
the nearing terrors of a death-hour broke the 
spell of restraint — and for the first time, the suf- 
ferer could ask, " what shall I do to be saved ?" 

Or where the mind dared not brood over its 
disquietudes, and was equally unwilling to di- 
vulge them, how often have religious impressions 
which seemed nigh to some good hope, left 
place to a spurious peace, which continued un- 
broken through life ! 

"But there are moments," — you say, ; — " when 
you are not only anxious to hear all that can be said 
on this subject, but almost willing to inquire of 
those around yp*i " A more intense feeling of dan- 
ger would certainly produce this effect. Even 



32 LETTER I 

pride gives 'way in a season of peril. A greater 
passion usurps the seat of a lesser, when the two 
cannot reign together. And you have, perhaps, 
witnessed in another, that hardly-repressed anx- 
iety of manner, which solicited an inquiry into 
its cause — that distant hinting at a subject there 
was not quite boldness enough to introduce ; and 
you saw, plainly, the cause of all this, through the 
miserable efforts to conceal h, But because that 
hint was not taken, and that exposed anxiety w 7 as 
not reached by a single question, — and the theme 
of religion was still kept back — the half awaken- 
ed inquirer suppressed a murmur, at the disap- 
pointment, and, in the petulance of a mortified 
child, gave up the whole matter, with the self con- 
soling thought — " It is parti}- the fault of others, 
if 1 perish." Here is pride acted out. And pu- 
erile as it may appear, it is a case of no uncom- 
mon occurrence. I am persuaded that if the 
inquirer will take pains to examine the ground 
he is treading, he will find a scriptural admoni- 
tion meeting him at every step, and fitting the 
very disposition of mind which he then enter- 
tains. And it were well if, in the outset, he pon- 
dered the meaning of the Saviour's admonition — 
an admonition which strikes at a latent, but dan- 



LETTER I. '33 

gerous principle of the heart — " whosoever there- 
fore shall be ashamed of me, and of my words, of 
him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, when 
he cometh in the glory of his Father, with the holy 
angels" 

It imports nothing to the purpose to say, that 
we would be willing to endure any public dis- 
honour for the sake of Jesus Christ. There is a 
kind of heroism in this, which has its attractions. 
And it is more than possible that the very man 
who would give his body to be burned, rather 
than abjure Christianity, may be kept back far 
from salvation, by the petty consideration of 
shame : While it is equally certain, that thou- 
sands who now retire from the blessings of the 
Gospel, — dreading the first disclosure of their 
feelings, — would be willing to enter, if they could, 
into a confidential contract, with the Redeemer. 

How important it is, my dear friend, to begin 
aright in any undertaking ! And nowhere is it 
as much so as in the great concerns of the soul. 
An error here will follow us on ; and may effec- 
tually preclude all discovery of the truth. There 
is an ingenuousness and candour, for which the 
present state of your mind is well prepared, and 
the exercise of which will always furnish some 



34 LETTER I. 

relief. I have often thought there was something 
touching in your remark on an interview with 
W. — •' his appearance at that moment, was like 
that of the angel to Hagar, as she sat in the 
wilderness mourning over her dying hope." And 
I do admit that at such a season as this, we have 
our personal preferences of those to whom we 
would present the burden of our minds. Where 
there is good sense and piety in the object of our 
choice, the interview may be blessed. And I see 
no necessary reason, as others profess to do, why 
such a choice should produce an undue leaning 
on human means : For we entertain, with little 
apprehension^ our preferences in the ministrations 
of the Word : And we are certainly bound to 
adopt those measures which most directly reach 
our wants ; as well as to seek those instructions, 
which most immediately meet the circumstances 
of our particular cases. 

And yet, after all, it is rather a principle than a 
practice, to which I would direct your attention. 
Whether we express our difficulties to another, or 
adopt only those more direct means which are 
prescribed in the Word of God, is of secondary 
importance in many cases, judicious as the for- 
mer may be, in most instances. But it is of pri- 



LETTER I. 35 

mary importance to know whether we are at- 
tempting to commence this great concern, with 
a subdued temper, or with fostered feelings of 
pride. 

It is a question which has more than once oc- 
curred to me, when I have reflected on your in- 
quiries, whether 1 shall congratulate my friend on 
his present state of mind, or how far I should 
sympathize with him in this new species of sor- 
row ? But how could I do either, alone? This 
is a most critical era in his life. It may look 
forward to the enjoyment of Heaven ; or it may 
produce an issue as positive on the side of des- 
pair. Let us pause together for one moment, 
and examine the ground on which you are stand- 
ing. 

The prejudices which you once carefully guard- 
ed, and which seemed as a retreat when con- 
science approached too near — how they have 
dwindled away ! The objections to evangelical 
truth, which possessed shape and magnitude, with 
the very appearance of solidity, have vanished 
as the light grew brighter around you. Difficul- 
ties which you thought deserving of serious in- 
vestigation ; and petty objections, which furnished 
an excuse for indifference to the whole matter or 



36 LETTER I, 

salvation — have receded without awaiting your 
scrutiny. Whence all this ? It was no mere de- 
duction of reason. You have arrived at a con- 
clusion more irresistible, and by a process more 
rapid, than that of argument. This is none other 
than the work of the Spirit, whatever its end 
may be. You are surrounded by a new and 
powerful exhibition of divine truth. You look 
far enough, perhaps, into the doctrines of the 
gospei, to see that they contain an energy, and a 
fullness of meaning, of which you thought little 
before. You discover more nearly, the worth of 
the Christian's hope. You feel, in some measure, 
as if awakening from a dream, to a sense of want 
and danger. How will you account for all this ? 
" It is God that worketh in you?'' — You can look 
back with some surprise on the past ; while you 
compare it with your present sense of conviction. 
The thoughtlessness of your associates darkens 
your prospect by the contrast it furnishes : and 
you are half disposed to say, 

I see a hand you cannot see : 
I hear a voice you cannot hear. 

There are moments, too, when you feel isolated 
in the midst of the world ; and all its joys, and 
its cares, are merged in the vast consideration of 



LETTER I. 37 

your eternal fate ; and your sensations seem as 
the shadow of Eternity thrown over your soul. 

Now, whatever the degree of your feelings, all 
this is an operation of divine power ; and — let me 
add — an effort of divine grace. But still it pre- 
sents only part of the scene in which an awakened 
soul is the active or passive object. There is 
much which that soul does not see ; and much of 
which it may seldom think. Angels, who minis- 
ter to heirs of salvation, rejoice in the conversion 
of the sinner. Are angels, then, listless specta- 
tors of a scene whose result may gladden Hea- 
ven ? Hell never loses a victim without a ma- 
lignant effort to retain it. And are these lost 
spirits idle in such an hour? Do not imagine 
that these are the mere suggestions of fancy. 
The value of an immortal soul is not too small to 
deserve this interest. 

Nor is this all. There are two other considera- 
tions which attach importance to this state of 
mind, beyond that of any former period of life : 
The light which shines so clearly from the Law 
and the Gospel, not only aggravates the guilt of 
every sin committed in it, but renders every hour's 
delay more criminal in the sight of God. This 
is an awful truth, however little it mav have oc- 



38 LETTER I. 

cupied our thoughts. The sins of other hours, 
their neglects and follies, are committed under 
less restraint, and with less compunctions of con- 
science. And sad as is the record they bear 
against us, they are comparatively small. But 
when the Spirit of God has flung his brightness 
around duty and sin, and rendered them both 
unequivocal in our sight — when we are feelingly 
sensible that we are arrested in a career of dan- 
ger — even the unchecked sin of thought has a 
power to blind the understanding, and to sear the 
conscience, beyond the act of iniquity, on another 
occasion. 

The other consideration is this : Every trifle in 
your circumstances is likely to produce some 
positive effect upon your condition as an Inquirer. 
At other times, the influence of little events may 
reach but a little way. But at this period, when 
the heart receives an impression from every thing 
that can reach it — when tendencies of good or 
evil supplant each other so easily — it is not im- 
possible that the eternal doom of the soul may 
be suspended by an apparently negative matter. 

There are political moments when the fate of 
an Empire hangs on a trifle, and the welfare of 
its millions is to be secured or lost. It is so, too, 



LETTER I. 39 

in the struggle of an awakened sinner ; when 
hope may be won or abandoned, even without 
the interference of a ruling passion. Here, then, 
I cannot omit saying, that there is no idea more 
erroneous than that which is sometimes held by 
the friends of one who has been aroused to a 
sense of danger, and led to some seriousness of 
thought : I mean the idea that all is now well ; 
that the convicted is " in a good way :" as if piety 
had already commenced its reign in the bosom, 
or a credible assurance were given of its future 
influence. 

And are all these things really so ? Are you 
singled out from the rest of the world, and placed 
on a spot which is soon to witness a change of 
infinite magnitude, in your present and future 
being ? Yes ; and your own mind meets these 
realities as they approach. There are hours when 
you feel as if every thing depended upon an im- 
mediate decision : when the conflict is plainly 
perceptible within you. And you sometimes ask 
yourself, u what will the end be **' You testify 
to the truth of all this You are to yourself a 
witness of the doubts, fears, hopes, and painful 
suspense, which agitate the bosom of one whose 
heart is contending with the Spirit of God. — 



40 



LETTER I. 



Other events may be of little value, even if they 
completely change your temporal condition. But 
all that is transpiring in this period of your history, 
will possess a mighty influence, and may give an 
unalterable tone to your future character. 

I admit that there is something fearful in the 
reflection, that so much may depend upon mat- 
ters, which, at other times, produce a less alarm- 
ing influence : or that there should be a critical 
period of life, in which our future destiny is like- 
ly to be fixed : or that a present unhappy decision 
may possibly be final. But it is not indispensably 
necessary to appeal to any special doctrine of 
Scripture, in order to substantiate this truth. — 
Every one who is acquainted with the human 
mind under the convictions of conscience, must 
have noticed the increased insensibility which 
succeeds a fruitless struggle ; and the loss of 
moral power, after a violation of serious resolves. 
But this insensibility, and this loss, increase in 
a melancholy ratio, in the once-awakened sinner, 
who returns to the world. 

Nor is it an extraordinary case, when we find 
a man whose mind has been the field of this con- 
flict, utterly unsusceptible of serious thought, un- 
der the most alarming providences: Or even 



LETTER I. 4l 

passing into the extreme of bitter practical hostili- 
ty, against all that is evangelical. And it is even 
possible for him, in the midst of all this, to re- 
view his steps, and to remember the very goal at 
which present help and hope were abandoned 
together. 

Such an instance occurs to my thoughts this 
moment ; and I shall do you no wrong if I fre- 
quently attempt to illustrate my remarks by ex- 
amples taken from life. The one to which 1 now 
refer, was that of an acquaintance, in whom a 
disposition naturally volatile, and feelings always 
impetuous, rendered the struggle more visible 
and marked. His unrepressed anxiety, and his 
impassioned resolutions, were known to his friends 
around him, and they awakened a general solici- 
tude in his favour. It was impossible to be in- 
different to the spectacle. Hopes and fears oc- 
cupied the hearts of a prayerful circle. Expec- 
tations were raised and baffled, again and again* 
There was something frightful in the operations 
of his mind, and in the earnestness of his man- 
ner. It almost reminded us of what we should 
have fancied in the days of evil-possession. But* 
even from this, we gathered some encouragement, 

to hope that his change would be as marked as 

6 



42 LETTER I 

his convictions* The result appeared at last: 
And it might have been foretold by the workings 
of wavering thought, as if the light of divine 
truth, that had shone so full, was now dimly flick- 
ering. The world laid a less disputed claim to 
his affections than ever. The voict of prayer 
was hushed : And the concern of many gave 
way to indifference. 

Let me digress for a moment to say — this is all 
we usually know of such a case. In sight of the 
world he would stand just where he was before. 
Pious friends would sigh and hope for the best 
hereafter. But, in the meanwhile, a work is 
going on in his own bosom, part of which he may 
not understand ; while another part plainly com- 
municates a secret ominous of the future : for 
there is ever something, in this condition of the 
once-awakened sinner, which tells a foreboding 
tale. That brief and thoughtless prayer, con- 
trasted with the aroused energies, which so lately 
directed every petition to the throne of grace — 
that satisfaction when it is over, betokening the 
reluctance of the offering, and contrasted, in its 
turn, with the cry into which the whole soul had 
once been infused, " God have mercy on me a sin- 
ner /"—that change of meaning and of charac- 



LETTER I. 43 

ter, which appears in the services of the sanctua- 
ry — that — what shall I call it? — that conscious 
and renewed deadness to all that is sacred or spi- 
ritual — that feeling of one's own weight again, on 
returning to the world, until the world has taken 
part of the burden on itself — that half desperate, 
half-hopeful self communion with the soul — or 
that " dash of the die," which indicates a spirit 
hazarding all, in almost conscious infatuation — 
no matter what the sensations or signs may be, 
there is an obvious sense of a dealing between 
God and himself, in the breast of the apostate 
Inquirer, on his first return to the world. And 
although he take his rank among those around 
him, only as one of the impenitent of the earth, 
he is not insensible, himself, that his past experi- 
ence has rendered his situation peculiar, and that 
it impossible to call a testimony against him, when- 
ever events may awaken his conscience from its 
slumbers. 

In the instance now before me, I question 
whether the light of conviction ever went out al- 
together. There was a witness within his own 
bosom which continued to prophecy, although it 
was clothed in sackcloth. But his cavils were 
frequent and many, whenever evangelical truth 



44 LETTER I. 

was named : and they were always tempered with 
that acrimony of expression, which displays the 
unsatisfied condition of the utterer ; and which 
reminds us of the desperate state of a fallen com- 
batant, who flings the dust at his antagonist, in 
the vexation of his spirit, before he bites it in the 
agonies of death. 

The subject of these remarks would converse, 
with all the eagerness of one who held an 
interest in the prosperity of the kingdom of 
darkness, — on the uncharitableness of Chris- 
tians, on the discrepancy of sects, — or on the 
unhallowed example of professors of religion. — 
How wide a field ! And he seemed to have 
left behind him all his personal cares, whenever 
he traversed it. But why should 1 detail ? — A 
voice arrested the caviller. It was not that which 
confounded Saul on his way to the Christians of 
Damascus. It was that of Death ; death, too, at 
a juncture in his temporal affairs. This, how- 
ever, was of least importance. The crisis of an 
eternal fate he considered as past. But what of 
that ? — Survivors put the best construction on the 
remorse of the deceased. Besides — there is a 
natural disposition to identify remorse and evan- 
gelical repentance. And there is something re- 



LETTER I, 45 

yoking to the minds of most of us, in scrutinizing 
evidences on the bed of suffering. We are prone 
to reflect on what Almighty power can do, in an 
hour of extremity ; and we willingly take the 
possibility for a hope. Who, then, would not 
have looked for the best ? It was what he called 
" these illusions," which he endeavoured to dis- 
pel. " I have always believed, " said he, " that 
" there was a horrible thought in dating the possi- 
" ble departure of the spirit of God from the soul. 
" We shudder at the idea of desertion, without re- 
" fleeting on its particulars. But it is tolerable 
" while wrapt in the mystery of ignorance — igno- 
" ranee of its manner, its cause, and its time. And 
" yet, at this very hour, I can look back to the tur- 
" ning point of my hopes. I can remember my 
" struggles under conviction. I can recall the wea- 
" riness of effort — the distaste — the compunctions, 
" which preceded the first bold act of worldliness ; 
"and which, in their departure, declared the issue 
11 decisive. In all the confusion of my thoughts 
"here is an unchanging spot in the survey of the 
" past. There it remains—and no hand can blot it 
" out. — No — you are not to imagine my judgment 
" impaired in such a review. I can deliberately 
" retrace the seasons departed. My return to the 
" world was not designated by an act which the 



4G LETTER I. 

" common rules of morality would impeach. But 
" it was by one, which, it is plain, put an end to 
" the struggle. And I could not renew the conflict 
" when 1 would willingly have done so. Convic- 
" tion did not leave me. But it sat on my spirits 
" like a lifeless weight, that instead of giving them 
"activity, crushed them down. My judgment is 
" as much convinced as ever. But it avails me 
" nothing. The brightness of a holy law, and that 
" of the world which I am approaching, only ren- 
" der my condition more awful, as the midnight 
"lightning does that of the wrecked mariner, by 
" showing him the impossibility of escape. I can 
" see, — I can comprehend, — but I can lay hold of 
" nothing, i can compel no play of that interest 
" which the near approach of the Holy Spirit once 
" created in my bosom." 

We will drop the curtain here — for, in less than 
an hour, the sufferer knew more of Eternity than 
you or I. 

Now, it is not necessary that exactly such an 
example be adduced, in support of our position. 
It is still true, whatever the nature of the ieelings 
under conviction, that to realize the near interest 
in salvation which once gave energy to desire and 
force to our resolution, will be far less easy, after 



LETTER I. 47 

the mind has been brought to a certain closeness 
to spiritual things, and has retreated from them 
again. And the degree of actual guilt, in the 
commission of sin, may have less to do with such 
an effect, than have a sense of warning gone by, 
and the consciousness of past divine interposition. 
There is an agency between the Sinner and his 
God. And however little the former may say on 
the subject, or however indistinct it may appear, 
in the bustle of his thoughts, he will not be in- 
sensible to it, nor will he ever wholly forget it, in 
the remainder of his life. 

Adieu, my dear sir, for the present. Re- 
member what eyes are upon you*. Remember 
what interests are at stake. Recollect that 
all your anxiety is known to One who can afford 
you relief: and that every fluctuation of hope and 
fear is noted, with an earnest concern for your 
welfare. This single reflection carries with it 
both admonition and encouragement. Be much 
in prayer. Make the Word of God your princi- 
pal study. Maintain a vigilant guard over your 
thoughts : and avoid every engagement which 
might unnecessarily divert them from your pre- 
sent pursuit. 

I am, truly, 

Yours, &e. 



49 



Mistaken views — Danger of reliance on feeling — The duty 
of avoiding unnecessary association with the World — 
Counting the cost — On the opposition of others — A mel- 
ancholy instance — Advice — An instance of the happy 
effects of Christian prudence — Discouragements from 
luke-warm Christians— The folly of relinquishing the 
subject in consequence of external difficulties — Encou- 
ragement. 

That ardour and perhaps vehemence, of feel- 
ing, which exist in some Inquirers, frequently 
preclude all suggestions of the judgement or un- 
derstanding. To such a one no obstacle in the 
matters of the world appears of magnitude : No 
temptation seems worthy of thought. He believes 
himself fortified against all the seductions of com- 
mon life. The great end of salvation he conceives 
to engage, not only the emotions of his heart, but 
the faculties of his mind. Without a single fear 
from external impressions, he is ready to encoun- 
ter any temptation : and thinks himself prepared 
to oppose the feelings of his present anxiety to all 
that could be set in array against it. The allure- 

7 



50 LETTER II, 

ments of time have disappeared. All tbat be- 
longs to earth lias assumed a character of insig- 
nificance. 

But is such a state always one of safety ? May 
there not be danger in this overweening confi- 
dence ? There is, certainly, imminent danger. 
The same susceptibility of temperament that ex- 
posed his bosom to its present agitation, lays it 
open to insidious encroachments from a quarter 
whence he apprehends but little danger ; and the 
strong holds of his security are, generally, his 
weakest and most vulnerable points. 

Nor is this a matter of surprize when we re- 
collect that there is no state of mind more de- 
ceptive, or more treacherous, than that which is 
produced by certain kinds of serious impressions. 
The recession of the world is not, as ma v be ima- 

' ml 

gined, the effect of a love of holiness : and the 
disinclination to pleasures recently dear, does not 
arise from a positive taste for piety. There is no 
new principle planted in the heart ; and the pow- 
erful feeling which is supposed to govern it, is 
without any rule of controul, or any defined place 
of direction. The scenes of a single hour may 
produce a rapid and perceptible return of the 
current. 



LETTER n 5 J 

Is there, then. anynhing more unwise, or more, 
hazardous, than a confident reliance on a condi- 
tion so precarious, in the midst of temptations 
that present a strong appeal to the natural heart ? 
And vet it is to this we are to attribute the failure 
of many an Inquirer, whose earnestness had in- 
spired us with every hope of his success : but who, 
in mistaking an unorganized feeling for a sub- 
stantial principle, was taken in the snare which 
presumption had placed in his way. And then 
his astonishment is, that a state of mind which 
he considered the dawn of religion, should have 
passed off so easily, and all that is unspiritual re- 
sumed its sway in his bosom again. 

If the remarks which 1 communicated in my 
last letter, have increased your apprehensions 
from the circumstances under which Providence 
has placed you, I trust there will be no reason to 
regret that they were written. There is, indeed, 
much to excite a jealousy of ourselves. And it is 
well to discover its operation upon our conduct; 
when that operation is not carried to an exclusive- 
ness of the very object we are labouring to reach. 
And yet such an effect, my dear friend, is more 
than possible : We may ext -n our whole efforts 
to keep up a certain condition of feeling, without 



52 LETTER II. 

any direct or practical reference to its ultimate 
design. The evil of this shall be the subject of a 
future page: At present, I have only to express 
my hope, that, while you entertain such serious 
fears lest your anxiety be diminished, and while 
you retain " this unaccountable timidity," on the 
subject, you may be enabled at once to cast your- 
self upon Him who will understand all your infir- 
mities, and who beholds not without much con- 
cern, a single one of his Creatures " in the gall 
of bitterness." 

That you should abandon all unnecessary inti- 
macies which are unfavorable to your spiritual wel- 
fare, is not only the dictate of imperative duty 
but it is the prescription of ordinary policy. A 
judicious physician would always, if practicable, 
remove his patient from an infected district, and 
place him where the air is more favourable to his 
recovery. But the atmosphere of worldly asso- 
ciates is as inauspicious to spiritual life, as is the 
spot of infectious disease to the health of the hu- 
man frame. The gaiety, or even indifference to 
religion, which prevails in the society of worldly 
men, will not always give intensity, by the con- 
trast it furnishes, to the convictions of the awaken- 
ed sinner : Its more legitimate effect will be, that 



LETTER II. 53 

of unsettling all that gave promise of future good. 
He should remember that the tone of his mind, 
unformed as it is, subjects him to a more positive 
effect from the society in which he moves, than 
from other and more suspected causes : and that 
he requires every possible check upon disposi- 
tions which are now restrained by a rein that is 
weak at the best, 

" I am a companion of all them that fear thee"* 
said one of old, in evidence of his delight in the 
counsels and commandments of God. Such, 
too, should be the language of the sincere Inquir- 
er, when he enters up his resolutions to espouse 
the cause of the Redeemer as his own : a resolu- 
tion which he is likely to make in the outset ; 
and which he is to connect with the discharge of 
every sacred duty : For if there are certain 
duties which he supposes can be accomplished 
only by the Christian, he is persuaded there are 
others which it is in the power of the unrenewed 
man to complete. But the simple truth is — and 
it deserves our most serious consideration, — that 
he is under as much obligation as the Christian 
himself, to obey the whole law of his God ; and 
his line of duty extends not one jot less far than 

* Psalm, cxix : 63. 



54 . LETTER If. 

thai of the heir of grace : and all neglect or ina- 
bility is charged upon himself; just as the tem- 
per and disposition which are opposed to holi- 
ness are condemned, as guilty, on the part of the 

sinner. 

Yet whatever uneasiness a position presented 
in such a form, may create in your mind, it is 
conceded that a choice of associates is fully with- 
in your power ; or, at least, that a retirement from 
an unnecessary intercourse with worldly men, is 
perfectly practicable. And it is equally certain 
that a disregard of precepts to this purpose, is in 
opposition to one of those petitions which should 
form a part of all our prayers — " lead us not in- 
to temptation." In the meanwhile, there is not a 
more deleterious effect observable on the mind of 
the man accustomed to devotional seasons, than 
that which he discovers when he comes to the 
chamber of retirement, reeking with the influence 
of worldly society. And it not unfrequently de- 
mands the full influence of a living principle of 
piety to restore him to a devotional frame. If 
such be the experience of one whose principles 
and habits are confirmed, how much more im- 
portant is the choice of society to the Inquirer. 

Much has been said on the trials which deci- 



LETTER II. 55 

sion on this subject are supposed to produce ; and 
in some instances, with great reason. But may 
it not be true that, in most cases, no small share 
of these evils is imaginary ; and a considerable 
part of the difficulties of our own formation ? I 
assure you I have often thought so. There are 
few in a land lighted by the Gospel, who have 
not had their serious moments — not to say sea- 
sons of painful conviction — and whose judg- 
ments do not secretly approve the course of the 
remrning sinner. Even he who professes to be 
satisfied with a cold system of morality, and who 
disavows a belief in the transforming influence of 
the Holy Spirit, is not always perfectly content- 
ed with the part he has adopted. There is, I 
have no doubt, a latent feeling of insecurit}^ 
brought into action by the separation of a former 
companion: and he may feel the reproach which 
that separation tacitly conveys : but whatever de- 
portment he may manifest, depend upon it, there 
is no decline of true respect towards him. Ap- 
prehensions on this subject, therefore, are very 
frequently groundless; and the unhappiness they 
create entirely gratuitous. And so, it might be 
added, are very many of the external cares which 
harass the awakened sinner. 



5Q LETTER U. 

Thai excuse for neglecting the concerns of the 
soul which so often follows the solemn admoni- 
tions of conscience, and which assumes such a 
shape as the following — " 1 am afraid to begin the 
inquiry for salvation lest 1 be tempted to abandon 
it at last — is not without a partial operation here. 
There are those who are unwilling to forego so- 
ciety which they know to be prejudicial to their 
best interests, from a doubt of their future suc- 
cess in the inquiry, and a fear of the consequent 
shame on coming back to the world. And it is 
this which, while it produces a compromising 
spirit and conduct, effects the very failure they 
apprehend. Such a man is attempting to secure 
two irreconcilable interests ; or at least, to retain 
one, in the peradventure of ill-success with the 
other. Here can be no sincerity of heart in the 
application for divine favour : no fair value set 
upon it — neither conviction of sin, nor a true dis- 
position to surrender every thing unreservedly to 
God, and to relinquish all that stands in the way 
of such a sacrifice : A disposition of which you 
should never lose sight, and to which I would 
have your mind habitually directed. 

There is not a more important scriptural di- 
rection to the Inquirer, than that which bids him 



LETTER II. 57 

" count the cost" of the pursuit in which ho pro- 
fesses to engage. Any reserve, which he may 
desire to make, in the great obligations of duty, 
will as effectually bar his success as an avowed 
spirit of world liness. And in this matter, with 
language that seemed designed to anticipate all 
such difficulties, the Saviour has expressly said, 
" K any man come to me, and hate not (a com- 
parative term) his father and mother, and wife, 
and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea and 
his own life also, he cannot be my disciple. 
And whosoever doth not bear his Cross, and 
come after me, cannot be my disciple."* — 
Here the dearest affections we are supposed to 
entertain, are considered secondary in the heart 
of sincerity. And the remainder of the chapter 
from which this passage is selected, — let me 
add, — deserve* vour attentive consideration. 
The awakened sinner has no right to form any 
calculations for the issue of his failure. Nor 
should he, for a single moment, count on the 
possibility of such a result : For if this be the 
termination of bis anxiety, the event is of his own 
accomplishment, and not that of his God. He 
should be willing to withhold nothing ; but to 

* Luke, x\v. 26, 27. 

S 



58 LETTER It 

make a cordial and immediate surrender of all 
that he has, and is. 

Let the Inquirer continue in the practice ol 
worldly association, and the instance will be an 
exception to a general rule, if he do not ultimate- 
ly abandon his object ; if a certain, not to say a 
rapid, change, do not mark the transition of his 
feelings in a return to thoughtlessness again. 
The innocent cheerfulness, as he deems it, to 
which he is exposed, and which is here the levity 
of an inconsiderate mind, easily becomes an 
object of attraction : or the apparent amiable- 
ness of demeanour, which he beholds, inspires an 
unscriptural charity for those who exhibit it : — a 
charity, which, on comparing his conduct with 
theirs, he very naturally annexes to his own con- 
dition : And all this, especially when the unre- 
newed heart so easily grows weary* of its burden 
of sorrow, and longs to deposit the load of its 
care on the first offered opportunity. 

Let your companions, I pray you, be those 
whose conversation, and whose aims are spiri- 
tual. Or, if this be impracticable, confine your- 
self as much as possible to the society of Him 
whose eye you cannot escape, and who may be 



LETTER II. 59 

equally your Friend, your Counsellor, and your 
God. " 

It is indeed a melancholy truth, that, in the 
concerns of the soul, a man's enemies may some- 
times be " those of his own household;" or, of 
the very group with which he is daily and neces- 
sarily associated. And favoured indeed are they, 
whose family and friends are all of the household 
of Christ ; and whose progress in holy attain- 
ments is forwarded by a pious intercourse ! But 
such is not the lot of all. Strong, and some- 
times effective, opposition is made to the ad- 
vancement of others, less advantageously cir- 
cumstanced. The air of seriousness is mistaken 
for an unwarrantable melancholy. The sedate 
deportment, and perhaps abstracted thoughtful- 
ness, disturb the vivacity of the domestic circle ; 
or even excite some alarm respecting the mind, 
or health, of the Inquirer. Parental anxiety, or 
that of attached friends, suggests a thousand un- 
happy surmises ; and measures are taken to ar- 
rest an event which affection itself is apprehend- 
ing. Among these, are those misconceptions of 
doctrine, those mis-statements of the character of 
religion, and those appeals to a religion of nature, 
which the natural heart is always prepared to 
furnish ; or those false ideas of the attributes of 



QQ LETTER II. 

God, and that unscriptural advice, whose end is 
rather to hide than to heal " the h prosy of soul." 
No where is the worldling so willing to advise on 
a subject which he does not understand, him- 
self — nowhere so willing to " daub with untem- 
pered mortar," as in the complaint of the cor- 
ruptions of the heart. The convicted sinner, 
who has some fair insight into his own evil, de- 
tects the fallacy of this interference ; and while 
he knows that his disorder is misunderstood by 
those whoj without being sensible of it, are pe- 
rishing with the same disease, he can exclaim 
with a sigh, like one in distress before, " mise- 
rable comforters are ye all !" But where the 
view of his condition is more imperfect, and the 
wound has never been deep, the end of this in- 
terference may be fatal to hope. Affection will 
inspire a strong confidence in those whom we 
love. A child is very apt to attach an equivocal 
character to the rules u hich a father may violate^ 
rather than suspect the integrity of his parent. 
And this very principle, not unfrequently, gives 
an undue influence to the unscriptural and most 
injudicious counsel of friends ; and that too, it 
may be, where the motive is not fully understood 
by themselves. 



X.ETTER.H, £| 

It is a cruel kindness which would sacrifice 
tbe interests of the soul to a temporary pleasure ; 
or hazard them all for the sake of its own sel- 
fishness. And yet we have reason to apprehend 
that the scenes of another world will tell many a 
story of woe in the history of the soul, touching 
this very point. 

" I was present," — said a worthy minister of 
the Gospel, on an occasion which introduced this 
subject — " I was present where an instance of 
this kind made a painful and indelible impression 
on my memory : An accomplished and amiable 

young woman, in the town of , had been 

deeply affected by a sense of her danger. She 
was the only child of a fond and affectionate 
parent : And the deep depression which accom- 
panied her discovery of guilt and depravity, 
awakened all the jealousies of the father. He 
dreaded the loss of all that sprightliness and vi- 
vacity, which constituted the happiness of the 
domestic circle. He w as startled by the answers 
which his questions elicited ; while he foresaw, — 
or thought he foresaw — a fatal encroachment 
on a hitherto unbroken tranquillity. Efforts were 
made to remove the cause of disquietude : but 
they were such efforts as unsanctified wisdom 



g2 LETTER II. 

directed. The Bible, at last — Oh how little may 
a parent know the far-reaching of the deed, 
when he snatches the Word of Life from the hand 
of a child ! — the Bible, and other books of re- 
ligion, were removed from her possession ; and 
their place was supplied by works of fiction. An 
excursion of pleasure was proposed, and de- 
clined. An offer of gayer amusement shared the 
same fate. Promises, remonstrances, and threat- 
enings followed. But it was the unhappiness of 
the father which completed the inducement to 
compliance — Alas, how little may a parent be 
aware that he is decking his offspring with the 
fillets of death, and leading to the sacrifice, like 
a follower of Moloch ! — The end desired was 
accomplished. And all thoughts of piety, and 
all concern for the future, vanished together. 
Less than a year shifted the bright scenes of do- 
mestic peace. The fascinating and gay L 

M was prostrated by a fever that bade de- 



fiance to medical skill. The approach of Death 
was unequivocal ; and the countenance of every 
attendant fell, as if they had heard the flight of 
his arrow. I see, even now, that look directed 
to the father, by the dying martyr of folly. The 
eye seemed glazing, — and it was dim in hopeless- 
ness ; and yet there seemed a something in its 



LETTER II. £3 

expiring rays, that told reproof, and tenderness, 
and terror, in the same glance. And that voice — 
its tone was decided, but sepulchral still — "My 
fether — last year i ivould have sought the Re- 
deemer. — Fath — er — your child is" — Eternity 
heard ihe remainder of the sentence ; for it was 
not uttered in Time. And the wretched survivor 
saw before him the fruit of a disorder, the seeds 
of which had ^been sown when his delighted 
look followed the steps of his idol in the maze 
of a dance. Oh how often, when 1 have wit- 
nessed the earthly wisdom of a parent banish- 
ing the thoughts of eternity, have 1 dwelt on 
that expression that seemed to arise from a sea- 
son of departed hope — " last year I would have 
sought the Redeemer !" 

But there are instances in which the opposi- 
tion is of a more distinctive character ; and 
when, instead of arising from an avowed regard 
for the temporal welfare of those concerned, it 
collects and concentrates the malignity of a 
heart inimical to grace. And this may be ob- 
servable in the very individuals who pay an out- 
ward respect to the ordinances of religion. And 
the taunting sneer, or the lower, but not less 
bitter, ribaldry, aims to transfix a spirit already 



(54 Xetter it 

fallen by another hand. For that very temper 
which applied to the Saviour epithets of igno- 
miny and falsehood, and then condemned 
him under the charge, is not less disposed, at 
the present day, to apply false terms to all that 
opposes its interests, and then to hold up the 
object of its slander to contumely and reproach. 
And should the sincere follower oi Christ hope 
to live ever unassailed. when his Master was 
accused as an Epicure, and executed as a 
Traitor? 

There is one consideration here which should 
not be forgotten ; it is this : If the thoughtless 
opposer were compelled to assign his true mo- 
tive for active repugnance to the operations of 
truth, that opposition, instead of proving an 
impediment in the way of the Inquirer, would 
form a strong ground of encouragement He 
would see its source in an ignorance alarm- 
ing in the extreme — or in a selfishness which 
arrogates to itself a right to new-modify the 
Gospel-plan — or in the disguised malice of a 
heart that partakes of the rancour of the Lost. 
Believe me, this language is not too strong. 
The passions of a bosom unreconciled to God, 
are never displayed under more plausible pretexts. 



LETTER II. $5 

or with more decided energy, than when they 
are called into action b} an example of piety, 
warning \\ bile it enlightens the conscience — or 
by an instance of departure from worldliness, 
forming a gap in the circle of association that 
may more admonish of danger, than the very 
instructions of the Sanctuary. Yes ; if the In- 
quirer would ponder these truths, of which he 
may have the clearest conviction, every hand 
that would oppose his progress would appear 
to beckon him on. 

Religion is indeed the only sure basis of do- 
mestic peace. But whenever it comes in con- 
tact with a spirit of worldliness, or threatens to 
encroach upon its territory, we are to predict 
nothing less than the fulfilment of the Redeem- 
er's prophecy — " For I am come to set a man at 
variance against his father, and the daughter 
against her mother, and the daughter in-law 
against her mother in laiv. v * 

To an affectionate bosom, it must be admitted, 
there is a peculiar painfulness in a situation 
which involves a contest between natural attach- 
ment and Christian principles, or convictions of 
duty. And it is iar more than possible that it 

* Matthew, x : 3$« 

3 



66 LETTER II, 

has often thwarted the great purpose that ap- 
peared to have begun in the bosom. But to all 
this, my dear friend, may you be able to say, — * 
" none of these things move me, neither count I 
my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish 
my course with joy ."* To you, a voice has 
come significant and earnest, as that to one in 
former days : " Escape for thy life ; look not be- 
hind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain."t 

In some instances of severe opposition, the 
fault may be, in a considerable measure, in the 
Inquirer himself. His own conduct may provoke 
an array of hostility where it would not, other- 
wise, have appeared. Let me then subjoin the 
following injunctions : 

Avoid all that unnecessary appearance of gloom, 
which may be mistaken for austerity, or may 
give rise to a suspicion of rooted melancholy. 
The effort to exhibit a hilarity which you do not 
feel, and which would be productive of mischief, 
in your present state of mind, even if unfelt, is 
certainly one extreme. But a cultivated dejection 
of countenance, or air, is another, which may be 
injurious to yourself, as well as to others. And 
there are those who have been induced to form 

* Acts, xx i 24. t Gen. xix ; 17, 



LETTER H. (37 

an artificial aspect of sorrow, by the hope that the 
artifice may sober and depress their own feel- 
ings. This is nothing less than a species of 
hypocrisy. On the other hand, sedateness and 
sobriety of deportment will be perfectly compat- 
ible with that amenity of demeanour, which 
Society has a right to claim from us all. You 
owe much to the happiness of others around 
you : Never, therefore, unnecessarily infringe it. 
But especially, you owe it to your God, to avoid 
subjecting his cause to an imputation which it 
does not deserve. It was an excellent answer — 
if understood within its proper limitations — 
which was given by a Minister of State,* to one 
who rallied him on his seriousness in the midst 
of the festivities of a Court : " While we laugh, 
" my friends, all things are serious around us. 
a God is serious, who exercises such patience to- 
" wards us ; Christ is serious, who shed his blood 
" for us. The Holy Ghost is serious, who strives 
" against the obstinacy of our hearts. The Scrip- 
" tures are serious, in all that they say. All that 
" are in Heaven or Hell are serious. May Man 
" then, trifle, whose doom is settling every mo- 
" ment ?" And it was, perhaps, a still better reply 
given by one who had been reproached for his 

* Sir Francis Walsingham. 



(38 LETTER U. 

visible distress : " It is not religion that renders 
" me sad, or that has ever rendered another sad ; 
" it is the icant of religion which I mourn." A. 
distinction which our worldly friends are not 
apt to remember. 

Again : If ever it become necessary to defend 
the views you have adopted as your own, and to 
which despondency is so often imputed, do so 
with all that gentleness of spirit^ which may win 
others, while it is a safeguard to yourself One 
of the most lovely effects of Christian prudence 
which 1 have ever known, arose from the con- 
duct of a young friend, whose temper was na- 
turally irrascible, and whose love of victory in 
argument was paramount in his bosom : and 
who under distress for the fate of his soul, dis- 
played a manner affectionate and patient, in op- 
position to numerous efforts to harass and dis- 
courage him — " Why," — said his brother, after 
an ill timed charge on his principles — " Why 
"are you not now as desirous of victory as in 
"former times ?" In a subdued tone, he replied, 
" the cause was that of my own vanity : the 
" present cause is Christ's : I was alone in the 
" first : Omnipotence will take care of the se- 
" cond." It may have been manner — or, if you 



.LETTER II. gC) 

please, it was the contrast between past and 
present feeling, so visible here, that produced 
so powerful an effect. Certain it is, the aggressor, 
without being repelled, was disarmed. His 
weapons were melted down ; and his heart was 
melted with them. The brothers soon sustained 
a nearer relation to each other, than ever, in the 
family of the Redeemer. 

May we, my friend, always display less soli- 
citude to fortify opinions of our own, however 
just they may be, than to extend the cause of 
Christ, by an example that shall be " a living 
epistle." If there be a power on earth, of all 
others most adapted to disarm opposition to the 
truth of God, it is such a one as I have just pre- 
sented to your sight ; and such an example is 
likely to be visible in ourselves in proportion as 
we study our own hearts, and look with intent- 
ness to the Cross. 

There is, sometimes, a species of negative oppo- 
sition — if I may so call it — of which the Inquirer 
bitterly complains : 1 mean that of the apparent 
indifference of professors of religion to the state 
of his mind Deepened anxiety may have sup- 
planted any scruples of delicacy which had pre- 
viously existed ; and he may have expected that 



7() .LETTER II. 

sympathy which sorrow frequently claims, and, 
in his disappointment, imagine an utter uncon- 
cern in his behalf. I have alreadv referred to 
the possibility of such a disappointment. But 
let me now add, that even this is conducive to 
the benefit of the sincere penitent. If it lead 

I him to exclaim, " no man cared for my soul !" — 
if it overwhelm him with a renewed feeling of 
hopelessness, it may, and it will, more effectu- 
ally unite, and concentrate, the powers of his 

I mind in " the Hope of Israel." When it is re- 
membered how nominal is the profession of 
many who " have a name to live ;" and how 
even the zeal of the Christian may decline, — 
any such disappointment, painful as it is, can 
be no fair cause of discouragement. It is indeed 
melancholy to see that supineness so much at 
variance with an active love of the Redeemer, 
in those from whom we should not have expect- 
ed it ; and at a time when it operates with such 
a repulsive power. But this has no necessary 
connexion with our own interests. A great mat- 
ter is pending between God and our own souls ; 
and nothing without should divert our attention 
a moment from it. 



LETTER II. 7| 

In concluding this Letter, I would observe that 
there is no inconsistency greater than that of re- 
linquishing the pursuit of salvation, on account 
of any external circumstances which may be in 
the way. To suppose that we are ever at li- 
berty to wait, until " a more convenient season" 
shall present fewer difficulties, is to imagine our- 
selves in an anomalous condition, in which we 
are at liberty to stand apart from the invitations 
of the Gospel — a condition in which enmity of 
heart to divine grace is legalized — the laws of 
God suspended, and their penalty withdrawn. It 
is the whole of this which is implied in the ex- 
cuse which the sinner finds in the ordinary ob- 
stacles produced by his circumstances in life. 

Never suffer yourself to pause for a single 
moment, to magnify obstacles that may be in 
your way. You can now form some affecting 
estimate of the value of the soul. Ask, then> of 
your own understanding — can He who bids you 
to his mercy, frame for you a yoke so oppressive 
that you are obliged to decline it, even at the 
peril of the soul ? Can He, whose holy Word 
gives assurance to the sincere Inquirer, that 
" as his days so shall his strength be" — can He 
speak an invitation, well knowing that there are 



72 LETTER IX. 

difficulties too serious to be within the possibility 
of removal ? Is he capable of such mockery to 
the wants of a fallen creature ? Oh let us ever 
be careful that our suspicions do not impugn the 
majesty of Jehovah ! Go freely to One who is 
able to take off the burden of your cares. Re- 
collect that whatever difficulties appear in your 
way, he that divided the waters of old, can open 
a passage for you to the Heavenly Canaan. In 
every apprehension remember—' 4 there hath no 
temptation taken you but such as is common to 
man : but God is faithful who will not suffer you 
to be tempted above that you are able ; but 
will with temptation also make a way to escape, 
that you may be able to bear it." 
1 am truly, 
Yours, &c. 



73 



Those difficulties which are of least importance most gen* 
erally discouraging — Impatience arising from disappoin- 
ted expectations — A complaint — Its causes — The dread 
of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — Evils arising 
from natural buoyancy of feeling — Difficulty in the doc- 
trine of Election — Inclination and despair aid each 
other — " I am seeking," a false plea — " I am waiting for 
a day of power" — " I am waiting for God to do his part." 

MY DEAR SIR, 

Suffer me to add a few words more to some 
remarks in my last letter. 

I will commence with a position which, to 
me, appears worthy of serious reflection ; it is 
this — the temptations to which the awakened sinner 
is exposed are inconsiderable and weak, in propor- 
tion to the sincerity and earnestness with which he 
sets out. When his mind was entirely engrossed 
in worldliness, it seized with avidity on the most 
contemptible objections to evangelical truth : 
and the smallest of these might have been suf- 

10 



74 LETTER III 

ficient, at times, to satisfy an understanding 
vitiated by sensual habits and taste. But when 
the remonstrances of the Holy Spirit are brought 
to bear, in some measure, on the mind and the 
conscience, such objections disappear, and per- 
plexities of a different character arise in their 
place. And the magnitude of these will depend 
on the same rule, whether thev arise from the 
state of the Inquirer's mind, or from the agency 
of his spiritual adversary. He who never pays 
a higher price for the soul than his victim de- 
mands, and who met the venality of a Judas with 
thirty pieces of silver, because he asked no more, 
uses the same economy of means in the difficul- 
ties with which he would dishearten the sinner 
who has been led to a partial seriousness. Have 
you not remarked how fully this position is ex- 
emplified among Inquirers ? Have you not ob- 
served that more abandon the pursuit of salva- 
tion in consequence of petty obstructions, than 
on account of those more imposing? And does 
it not prove that the true state of the difficulty is 
to be found in the affections or desires of the 
Inquirer ? I am persuaded it is so ; and that 
causes which discourage many, have little or no 
influence on others. 



LETTER III. 



75 



Let ns examine some of those evils to which a 
failure is so often to be attributed. We will be- 
gin with one of the most common — the impa- 
tience arising from disappointed expectations. 

We will suppose the Inquirer to be conversant 
with the general invitations of the Gospel; sen- 
sible that his natural condition is not one of safe- 
ty, and determined to relinquish it. He begins 
a change in some of his habits ; and commences 
the practice of prayer: attends with regularity 
on all the public means of grace : takes up some 
religious works: frequently consults the Bible; 
and devotes a set part of his time to serious 
thought. Days, and perhaps weeks, pass by; 
and as far as he can discover, he has not arrived 
a single step nearer his object : But if any con- 
clusion be drawn, it is that he is further off than 
ever. How is all this ? The simple truth is, he 
has engaged in a course for which he has no cor- 
dial inclination. His taste is repugnant to the 
task he has enjoined upon himself; and instead 
of being altered, as he had hoped, by his new 
employment, continues averse as ever. The 
novelty of experiment wearing off, every effort 
he makes increases the sensation of drudgery. 
There is no spring of action ; no powerful mo- 



7$ LETTER I1L 

tive ; and nothing to give life to desire. The 
schemes which fancy had formed, and the pros- 
pects it had presented, like all other imaginary 
things, pass away : and he petulantly asks — a is 
" this the fruit of my labour ? — I have done all 
" that God has directed me to do ; but I have done 
" it in vain. I see none of the divine power I 
" was taught to expect. — It is useless to prosecute 
" the attempt." 

How different is all this from his first antici- 
pations! The short suspense, and then the 
peace in prayer— the comfort which was to flow 
on to his soul as he advanced — the pleasure of 
communion with God, after he had shed a few 
tears, deemed as honorable to himself as they 
were to be effectual to the end of his pardon — 
It was for these he was looking. 

Oh there is as much that is visionary, in the 
conceptions of many, respecting 1 his whole mat- 
ter, as there is in the regions of romance ; as 
much that is unreal and fictitious. And when 
the search for all this has failed, the sinner is dis- 
concerted ; a mortified feeling ensues : or a gra- 
dual and thoughtless relapse to matters more con- 
genial ; with an effective, but not painful, despair ; 
and a settling down with the abandonment of all 
present expectations. 



LETTER III 



77 



it is easy to decide that there had been no real 
anxiety here. But, then, what was the obstruc- 
tion in the way of this Inquirer ? Why did not 
a course which is most commonly prescribed, as 
the ordinary means of grace, end more favoura- 
bly ? Why should all such pains and care be 
unavailing ? I will tell you : This man over- 
looked the whole conditions of salvation. Neith- 
er faith nor repentance were presented to his 
mind. The track he was pursuing may indeed 
be called part of the ordinary means of grace : 
but he had no heart for the engagement in which 
he was occupied. It was altogether a work of 
mechanical effort. This is evident from the fact 
that he could have proceeded a very short dis- 
tance, without becoming, in some measure, bet- 
ter acquainted with himself; or without disco- 
vering inducements to surrender himself at once 
to the Saviour. But to any knowledge which he 
might have obtained of his state, he paid no at- 
tention : On the contrary, he sedulously avoid- 
ed a near approach to the truth. Let me illus- 
trate this, by a review of the circumstances as 
they occurred : He saw distinctly that his 
heart was not right, if he saw no more : for 
the formality of his whole conduct must have 



73 LETTER III. 

made this plain. He was enabled, too, to dis- 
cover that his conceptions of divine truth were 
gross ; that he had no just sense of sin ; that there 
was an awful distance between himself and a re- 
conciled God ; and that the very feeling which 
occupied his bosom, on the failure of his hopes, 
betrayed a heart at variance with holiness. 

If he saw no more, it was in his power to as- 
certain all this. But he acted on no part of it. 
He would have overleaped all that was interme- 
diate between the first thought of religion and 
the evidences of a renewed souL Evidences of 
another description — those of a latent depravi- 
ty — he would not examine. With the same in- 
attention, he saw his natural helplessness. His 
growing distaste of devotion when the novelty 
of his pursuit was past, and his sad heartless- 
ness in it before, ought to have indicated more 
than they did, and to have taught him a prac- 
tical lesson of infinite value. But if he learned, 
it was only to misapply. He still laboured for — 
he knew not what ; while he gathered no new 
motives for earnestness, or for directing his in- 
vestigation into his own heart. Where, then, was 
the fault ? Did he not evade the conviction 



LETTER III. 79 

which might have brought him, as a penitent, 
to God ? And while conscience sometimes 
accused him of this, did he not retreat from 
the accusation, and secretly hope that some pe- 
culiar way would be found out for him — some 
distinguishing favour bestowed, — which selfish- 
ness is ever ready to promise even at the cost 
of the terms of the Gospel ? Oh what hypocri- 
sy of dealing may be seen flowing from the rea- 
sonings of a selfish heart ! How much that lurks 
within him, he would conceal from his own sight ! 
and how much are all his sacrifices, and the 
temper with which they are offered, like those 
of him who frowned on Heaven, because Hea- 
ven stood aloof from his self-complacent spirit !* 
Let me repeat what I have already hinted, — 
and 1 may have reason to apply to other in- 
stances — that, in the case before us, the Inquir- 
er has no defined object in view. He is led to 
serious thought, but it is to no distinct purpose. 
He is in the condition of one who hears a vague 
report of personal alarm, without being able 
to conjecture its meaning, or its nature ; desiring 
to anticipate the evil, without knowing where 
to direct his energies. Yet even from him, this 

* Gen. iv : 5. 



30 LETTER 1U : 

Inquirer differs in one unhappy respect : Such 
a man would examine all that could throw 
light on the truth : He would meet intelligence 
half-way. Not so here. There is a want of 
that candour to himself, which even the law of 
self-preservation should suggest. And he con- 
tinues brooding, with a half-affected sorrow, 
over an indefinite evil. And, perhaps, uttering 
secret murmurs to himself, which tend as much 
to harass his mind as to aleinate his soul still 
more from his God. Has one in this situation 
a right to complain of his failure ? Has he not 
stood back from the accomplishment of his own 
end ? — The adage of one who understood the 
heart is too easilv verified — " the foolishness of 
man perverteth his way : and his heart fret- 
teth against the Lord,"* 

But we will imagine such a one to have 
advanced further. We will suppose him to 
have seen enough to know that a more serious 
developement awaits him : and that, if he con- 
tinue his pursuit, he must encounter the spec- 
tacle of moral deformity which an unrenewed 
spirit always exhibits. He sees enough to create 
an alarm, — not on account of his danger, but 

* Prov, xix : 3. 



Better i n 81 

on account of the pain which will accompany 
perseverance in his investigation. It is a pre- 
sent ill which he dreads. The terrors of Eterni- 
ty are removed still further off, while he is en- 
grossed with these apprehensions. If he go on» 
he must suffer : — and he has arrived at a point 
of reflection near enough to obtain some general 
idea what that suffering would be ; and to see 
that the path to Calvary may be one of distress ; 
that the call which invites him to Christ is one 
which reminds him of wretchedness and guilt. 
And that the act of obeying it must be one of 
self-abasement. To proceed, then, is, as it were, 
in search of sorrow. " If" — says one in such a 
state — " if faith, and repentance would come of 
themselves, — or if conviction would bring, at 
once, that distress which would as immediately 
procure the favour of Christ, I should be* satis- 
fied to encounter it. But to go on making painful 
discoveries — becoming the executioner of my 
peace — it is requiring too much." 

And what heart burnings ensue ! And the 
secret thought is, " God ought to do more to 
help me !" 

Now there are two reasons w 7 hy this man gives 

up the important question before him : One of 

11 



32 LETTER III. 

these, f have already said, is the dread of present 
suffering — the natural disposition to postpone a 
day of distress. He had been instructed to ap- 
proach the Saviour directly ; but no sooner had 
he seen a part of the path he was to have travel- 
led, than be relinquished the design. 

The second reason is found in a feeling com- 
mon to this state of mind ; and may be expressed 
in the following language — " I have certainly 
&i made some discovery into the state of my 
" heart : I have arrived within a certain dis- 
" tance of my object : / can reach this point again 
"at pleasure- It is some satisfaction to see 
" what 1 can do. I am encouraged, therefore, to 
u return to the world." 

A third case may be found in that buoyancy of 
feeling which so easily rises, after a momentary 
depression, higher than ever : that temper, which, 
unless grief give it sobriety, it is difficult to arrest 
long enough to effect any important purpose. In 
such an instance, serious impressions come and 
go at the call of a trifle But they come as the 
}ight cloud which flings a shadow over the gaie- 
ties of the heart : and the little circumstance of 
external temptation — -joined, as it always is, to 
the reluctance of an unsaiictified heart to the 



LETTER m gg 

iieme of grace — removes them again. The 
remembrance of a favourite amusement — so un- 
like the present unwelcome sobriety — disheartens 
and discourages : and even the thought of a fri- 
volous jest whets the appetite again for worldly 
amusements. This is a lamentable state, in 
which the hopes of an immortal soul remain at 
the mercy of a petty incident. But the consi- 
deration of that \ery truth ought to furnish an 
inducement to more substantial resolutions, and 
io create a more effectual alarm of danger. 

Unhappily, this is not always the effect. The 
mind of such a man easily deceives him. After 
having once abandoned the pursuit, he may re* 
turn to it again with more earnestness : and with 
some additional hope from his former experience. 
And he may do so again, and again — for such 
a mind is the only one liable to frequent awaken- 
ings — but we may see him, in every instance, 
deciding against himself, with the plea of the 
utter impossibility of success. Yet is it not ac- 
quired habits of which he is complaining, or on 
which he charges all his difficulty? — --habits, 
which, if they stand in the way of his spiritual 
welfare, are equally sinful and dangerous : And 
which are as certainly preparing their harvest of 



84 LETTER III 

future remorse, as those more positive and fla- 
grant. It is indeed a hapless spectacle which 
the Inquirer here displays ; when, like the idola- 
trous Jew, in whom the strength of habitual sin 
was too great for his convictions, he exclaims, — 
" there is no hope ; no ; I have loved idols, and 
after them will I go !" But, if he took pains to 
examine the feelings with which this plaint is 
uttered, his conclusion would be more unhappy 
than he now suffers it to be. Let us look at it, 
in passing, — for its frequency, in one form or 
other, renders it worthy of notice. 

There are two principles here which afford 
each other mutual strength — Inclination and 
Despair: Inclination to return to the world 
brings a plea from despair of success in the in- 
quiry ; and this despair of success encourages 
the inclination. It is the apology for vice which 
we may hear every day. " My habits," says the 
drunkard, " are too strong to be broken." " My 
passions," says the sensualist, " are too powerful 
to be withstood." " My love of frivolity," says 
another, " is too firmly fixed to be shaken." — 1 
know there mav be a sadness of heart with 
which such an apology is uttered : But then it is 
sounterbalanced by a secret pleasure in return- 



I l 1 J EB III 



35 



nig to more congenial engagements, in which it 
is soon lost or forgotten. 

Now, I would appeal to such a one, whether 
this be not the sensation with which he abandons 
his inquiry for salvation ? And while he would 
find little reason to hesitate in reply, he might 
see a powerful motive to awaken him to a more 
permanent sense of danger, in a consciousness 
that it is a love of sin w hich holds him back 
from the Gospel. It is ignorance of this truth,— 
or indifference to it, which suffers him to pass so 
easily again to listlessness and folly. 

There is another difficulty, which deserves 
some consideration ; not only because it is a 
misrepresentation of an important doctrine, but 
because it affords what is considered a plausible 
pretext, in the sight of many: I mean a diffi- 
culty originating in a misconstruction of the doc- 
trine of Election. This is not only a stumbling 
bloek in the way of the Inquirer, but it is an 
excuse of frequency, in the mouths of the care- 
less. The complaints of the two are substan- 
tially the same, although they may differ in 
form. The latter is expressed somewhat as fol- 
lows: — " If I am elected, I shall be saved ; if not, 
it is useless to apply for salvation." The former 



86 LETTER IIL 

affirms that an effort has been made ; and an un* 
favorable conclusion is drawn from its failure. 
H I have tried ; but in vain. I see I am not eleo 
ted, and therefore I dismiss the subject." 

Is it not strange that men who, in other con- 
cerns, are not deficient in good sense, should 
make the secret counsels of God a rule of ac- 
tion i That they should profess to be governed 
by a law of which they are confessedly ignorant ? 
That they should discard, in their spiritual affairs, 
the simple process of reasoning which they adopt 
in the common things of life ? Or shall we ac- 
count for all this, by affirming that the careless 
neither mean nor believe what they say ? And 
that the Inquirer intends only to avow the wea- 
riness of his pursuit; ? We have great reason to 
believe this. And if it be indeed so, what wick- 
edness does not this trifling evince ! What hor- 
rible impiety in uttering a known falsehood 
under circumstances rendered solemn by the 
loud calls of the Holy Spirit ! 

To either objector, the following questions and 
remarks may be worthy of some thought : 

It must be admitted that you are left to the 
choice of holiness or sin : you are at liberty, so 
far as your free agency is concerned, to adopt a 



LETTER III. 37 

worldly or spiritual line of conduct. Experi- 
ence and Scripture coincide in this position. — 
The freedom of the will is not a matter in dis- 
pute. But if your difficulties on the subject of 
predestination were consistent with each other, 
vou would reason thus : — " I am fore-ordained to 
11 the commission of good or evil ; I know not 
" which ; but until I can ascertain this, I will 
" make no choice of either." And the conse- 
quence would be, at least an honest effort to 
avoid iniquity. Now no such reasoning, or ef- 
fort, ensues. You continue in the way of the 
transgressor. And, in doing so, you are delibe- 
rately fixing your own destiny. Is your com- 
plaint, then, any thing less theui a cover of hy- 
pocrisy — a cloak thrown over the desires of a 
depraved and treacherous heart ? 

Again : you cannot find any decree which 
forbids your acting righteously, or thai can ex- 
tinguish a desire of salvation in your bosom. 
What, then, has this doctrine to do in the ques- 
tion before you ? All the invitations of the Gos~ 
pel are distinct from it ; they are never given 
with a design that we should pry into the secrefc 
counsels of God, in order to discover their ap- 



33 r.ETTERm, 

plication to us ; and those counsels can never 
contradict them. 

Take the following case : A Ruler offers par- 
don to certain rebellious subjects, on condition 
that they lay down their arms. Some of them 
comply, and are pardoned. One refuses, and 
his reason is — " I am not among the number 
" whom the Sovereign designed to save, and it 
" is therefore useless to accept the terms of for- 
" giveness." Now would you not say of this 
man, that he falsifies the assertions of the gra- 
cious Ruler ; and multiplies his own guilt ? But 
the offers of our Divine Sovereign are not less 
explicit ; and the conduct of the rejecting sinner 
is not less flagrant. 

Why do you conclude with such certainty, 
that you are not among the elect ? Has any one 
revealed this awful truth ? — if not, your con- 
clusion has no higher origin than conjecture. 
And what is this but a criminal intermeddling, 
or a fanciful trifling with things belonging only 
to God ? If such a conjecture detains you from 
the love of Jesus Christ, is it not criminal ? Are 
you not destroying your own soul with weapons 
of your own fabrication ? 



LETTER III. gC) 

The Holy Scriptures, as well as the economy 
of the divine government, abundantly prove 
that non-election can never be the ground of 
condemnation. God will jud^e us by our own 
works, and not by his secret decrees. The 
doom of the lost will be, because they " love 
darkness rather than light" — because they pre- 
fer iniquity to holiness. 

In a practical sense, at least, the following 
expostulation, which Milton puts into the mouth 
of the Creator, is applicable here : 

-Nor can justly accuse 



Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, 

As if predestination overruled 

Their will dispos'd by absolute decree 

Or high foreknowledge ; they themselves decreed 

Their own revolt, not I ; if I foreknew, 

Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, 

Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. 

So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 

Or ought by me immutable foreseen, 

They trespass, authors to themselves in all 

Both what they judge and what they choose. 

Can it be true that, " whosoever shall call on 
the name of the Lord shall be saved" — and 
that God " commandeth all men every where 
to repent," and yet secretly means to reject the 
prayer of the penitent ? If it be so, then you 
have a singular ground of security : — for the 

condemnation is, that the sinner wilfully refuses 

12 



90 LETTER III 

the offer of salvation ; whereas no such offer 
was made to you ; or, it was not in your power 
to accept it. Are you prepared to take this 
plea to the Judgement seat? — would you not 
shudder at a presumption so high, and so 
daring ? 

In any such instance as this, it should be re- 
membered that there cannot be a serious sense 
of danger — any deep conviction of sin — or any 
sincere desire to be saved, on the terms of the 
Gospel. All declarations to the contrary are 
either a vain pretence, or they arise from a most 
culpable ignorance of the heart. This is plain 
from the truth of a remark already made — that 
the speciousness of a difficulty is a test of the 
sincerity of the Inquirer. The man who is 
sincere would endeavour to look directly to 
the object of his wants. He would be aware 
that he has not time, — and he would not pos- 
sess inclination— to occupy his mind with mat- 
ters unrevealed. Or, if a suspicion of this 
nature flashed before him, it would lead to a 
more diligent search after the truth, and end 
in a better knowledge of his condition, as a 
sinner. But, contrary to this, there is here an 
important and most dangerous defect, which > 



LETTER III. 9 1 

while it darkens the prospects of the soul, ag- 
gravates the doom which is likely to follow. 
The truth of this position will be manifest if 
we consider the following statement : 

A failure in the attempt to lay hold of the 
hope of salvation, implies a fault somewhere; 
either on the part of the Inquirer, or on that of 
his God, But the Inquirer exculpates himself, 
and declares that he " has done all in his power ; — 
that his desires have been serious." The fault, 
then, is charged upon the Head of the Universe. 
Is there not something horrible in this ? And 
is not the disposition which dares undertake 
it, proudly rebellious, and wholly unfit for the 
reception of favour ? — 1 do not mean merely 
undeserving, but in a state unsuited to the op- 
erations of mercy. And does not this very 
failure disclose its own cause, by bringing into 
play so unhallowed, so selfish, and so petu- 
lant a temper? A temper that would 

" Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod, 
" Rejudge his justice, be the God of God." 

If he who thinks himself refused, would 
pause a mom* nt, and ponder the effect that 
refusal has produced, it might not be impos- 
sible to discover the reason : — A discovery 



92 LETTER III. 

which might be of infinite importance to his 
spiritual interest, and, perhaps, the means of se- 
curing his end. The first step to truth is the 
removal of error : And this ill-success of the 
sinner might have shewn him some essential 
error, if he examined its results in his own 
bosom. He would be, in consequence of this, 
nearer his object, and not further from it — near- 
er, because he would see, more distinctly, both 
his danger and his wants. 

I have said that inclination and despair, in 
certain states of mind, mutually assist each 
other, in the ruin of the soul. But what an 
awful state of heart should we sometimes see, 
if we could read the secret feelings of the In- 
quirer, when he abandons the hope before him ! 
We should behold — not the penetrating sorrow 
which tells the disappointment of a sad heart, 
and indicates its sincerity— but a latent satis- 
faction, — the high evidence of his hypocrisy. 
Hear the murmurer, in the pride of self-com- 
placency, — " The fault is not mine ; I have no 
censure to attach to myself!" — Let us ask him, 
if there be not a self-gratulation on his return 
to worldliness and to folly ? Oh what a mock- 
ery of the character and attributes of God! 



LETTER III. 93 

What a challenge to that wrath which bold 
impiety draws upon itself! And then what 
availed his resolutions, or his prayers ? A little 
delay has shewn him that his conduct has been 
governed by false pretences ; and that, instead 
of being ready to love the Redeemer, he was 
prepared to arraign his rectitude and truth ! 
But an avowed abandonment is not univer- 
sal, even among those who appear to have lost 
interest in the subject. We hear some stating 
their determination to continue their inquiry — 
" / am seeking" — Few expressions are more 
illusive than this. It may be honestly uttered ; 
but is very frequently not so And it is one of 
those instances of perverting Scripture language, 
which a common mistake has sanctioned : a 
mistake to which I shall advert hereafter. At 
present, I would say to such a one — " your 
interest in religion diminished in the failure 
of your expectations : you were unwilling to 
admit to yourself that you were relinquishing 
all hope, — for this would have been a painful 
thought. You were determined to continue 
in the same round of duties, although they 
were discharged with insensibility, and heart- 
lessness. This course you considered a kind 



94 LETTER III. 

of neutral agency ; in which, if there were no 
comfort, there could be no danger. Here, too, 
you hoped that some light might gradually 
break in upon you : and you profess to " wait 
patiently" because it is the direction of the 
Word of God. But can this dealing be ap- 
proved ? Will a heartless round of form lead 
you to that grace which you profess to be 
seeking ? And does not this very contentment, 
while you are without spiritual peace, tell 
against you ? You are seeking ? — then it is for 
an object which you undervalue, and which 
excites no feeling of anxiety. There is danger 
in your present situation, and that most im- 
minent. It is not neutral ground on which you 
are standing. Every hour in which you re- 
main out of Christ, you are increasing your 
guilt, and diminishing your hope of pardon. 
And the pretext with which you would satisfy 
your conscience, is one which favours the na- 
tural inclinations of the heart." — And how fre- 
quent are the instances in which a death-like 
lethargy supervenes ! All the little sensibility 
that had existed, perceptibly giving way to a 
conscious stupidity : the form of piety adopted, 
in the place of its principle : And the reluc- 






LETTER III. 95 

tance to confess to himself that he was retur- 
ning to the world, gradually lost in its cares 
and its pleasures. 

In such an instance as this, in which the pur- 
suit, so called, may have continued for a long 
time, the most common result is that of em- 
bracing some doctrinal error. The nature of 
evangelical religion is questioned : so is that of 
a change of heart: or the latter is discredited 
altogether : and the self-satisfying reasoning is — 
« ; I may have been mistaken in my expectations. 
My anxiety has left me ; but my present peace 
may be the answer of prayer : and although 
I cannot perceive any difference between my 
present state, and that of some months since, 
excepting that habit has reconciled me more 
to outward forms, may I not be safe ? 35 How 
readily is stupidity mistaken for a Heavenly 
peace, after remaining in such a condition as 
this! And how completely is the soul invested 
in an armour which no arrow of conviction 
can penetrate ! 

Or, where this is not exactly the state of mind 
in which a long continuance of fruitless form 
has left the Inquirer, another plea is sometimes 
advanced, nearly as delusive and dangerous 






% LETTER Iir, 

as the last. It is this : — " 1 am waiting for a 
" day oj power. I have seen that power dis- 
" played in the conversion of others. I con- 
" tinue in the way of it. 1 remain at the pool 
" until the troubling of the waters." 

Nothing is more easy than to deceive a 
mind in the situation in which we have sup- 
posed this to be. Exhausted by its own vain 
exertions ; wearied, and watching for some 
mystical effect, the most foolish pretexts will 
bring on a relapse into indolence and inacti- 
vity. And the private reflections which serve 
to direct the attention from all possibility of 
danger, might frequently be read in such 
language as the following:— u God must sure- 
" ]y eye me with favour, while 1 am waiting 
" in patience for his will. And if he do not 
" now grant me the object of my prayer, he 
" will see the virtue of this patience, and re- 
" member me in his own good season!" Do 
you not see how much that is Pharisaical per- 
vades all this ? how much of an unhumbled 
and legal temper ? and what erroneous con- 
ceptions of the true state of the heart ? Do 
you not see how carelessness and indifference 
are misnamed ? How the sinner arrogates to 






LETTER IH. 0*7 

himself a Christian virtue which is insepara- 
ble from faith in Jesus Christ, and builds upon 
it the expectation of divine favour ? 

The prevalent mistake which is founded on 
the Scriptural expression, " a day of power," 
betokens a gross ignorance of the scheme of 
redemption. It supposes a particular period 
assigned by Eternal Counsel, in which alone 
the Holy Spirit is willing to work in the heart of 
the sinner — that period independent of any state 
of mind in which the sinner may be — and 
that, until then, all desire, or prayer, must be 
unavailing. I need not detain you by an 
explanation of this error, in its source, and in 
its bearings. A single remark on a miscon- 
strued phraseology will be sufficient : All that 
time of the Saviour's administration, in what 
is called his exalted state, — in contradistinc- 
tion from what is called his " day of humil- 
iation" — is denominated his " day of power." 
And the time at which the sinner first be- 
lieved, may be considered that in which di- 
vine power renewed his heart. And yet it is 
said to every sinner, " Now is the accepted 
time, now is the day of salvation." Be as- 
sured, then, that if he be anticipating some 

13 



98 LETTER III. 

imaginary period, in which God is more wil- 
ling to accept him, through Jesus Christ, he 
lias embraced an error, which, the longer he 
holds it, will widen more the distance between 
him and his Saviour God demands the whole 
heart this very moment ; and cvay instant, 
during which it is detained from him, sends 
up an additional report against the delinquent. 

To all this class of self cxeusings, I would 
apply the remark of one, who, on a bed of 
illness was asked, " if he was waiting God's 
pleasure?" answered, <; wailing implies being 
ready." There is much point in this. He 
who here professes to be waiting, depend up- 
on it, is not ready. There may be very little 
difference between his state of mind, and that 
of him who stands aloof from salvation, with 
an apology which, if it do not indicate con- 
temptuousness, argues a most sinful indiffe- 
rence, — " I hope my time will one clay come." 

There is another expression, corresponding 
with those I have alreadv mentioned, and 
equally common : " I have done all that I 
was directed to do ; I now remain until God 
shall do his part " If the utterer would take 
pains to examine the feelings with which 



LETTER lii 0)C) 

this is said, he would sec that they are liable 
to the same severe charge which we have ap- 
plied to other excuses ; — ignorance that is wil- 
ful, — petulance, — or a temporizing policy. It 
is of little importance which, while their ten- 
dency h to keep the sinner beyond the hope 
of salvation/ Could it ever be said of any 
suppliant, — " you have done all that was de- 
manded at your hands, and yet God has re- 
solved to withhold his promised blessing ?" — 
.May we ever impeach his veracity with im- 
punity ? 

Much of the language which I have thus 
quoted, composes a part of that cant phrase- 
ology — if the term be permitted — so general 
in partial religious impressions. It is always 
founded on error : And is either the cause 
or the effect of greater repugnance to the 
doctrines of the Cross. It is indeed surpri- 
sing what caprices, and what follies, in the 
heart of the sinner, are brought to light, in 
the condition I am describing : What incon- 
sistent notions ! what absurd expectations ! 
what impertinences ! what perverse ideas of 
God ! what wanton impeachment of his holy 
character! And has such a man a claim 



10Q LETTER III. 

upon the spiritual mercies of his Maker ? — 
the very thing which he fancies to be his.— 
And is God under an obligation to hear him ? — 
the very thing he imagines him to be. 

Adieu, My Dear Sir. Dare to examine the 
dispositions of your mind. Tender it to the 
scrutiny of an Omniscient Being. Pray — and 
act consistently with such a prayer — " Search 
" me, O God, and know my heart ; try me, 
" and know my thoughts ; and see if there be 
" any wicked way in me, and lead me in the 
" way everlasting."* 

I am Yours, &c. 

* Psalms, qxxxix : 23, 24- 



101 



Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay — Any delay or 
suffering, the fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to the 
necessity of a certain preparatory process — Scripture ex- 
amples — Error relating to prayer — " I am not prepared" — - 
" I am not holy enough" — The inconsistency of the com- 
plainer — On insensibility — Want of clear views of Sin — 
Degrees of conviction not necessary to be observed — Why 
conviction is more difficult to be effected in a man of 
strict morality — The Gospel invites without reference to 
the degree of conviction. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

If a Heathen, who did not well under- 
stand the first principles of the Gospel, were 
awakened to some sense of his guilt, we might 
expect him to cry out, — " what shall I do to 
be saved ?" But suppose a man whose home 
is in Christendom, and who had been well 
indoctrinated in the truths of Christianity, yet 
ignorant of its power in his own experience : — 
suppose him, for the first time, to make the 



J 02 LETTER IV. 

fearful discovery of his lost condition, and of 
the necessity of personal reconciliation to his 
God : — would you not imagine the question 
wholly unnecessary on his part ? Would you 
not say, that to him the path of the convicted 
soul would be plain — plain as a path in which 
" the way-faring men, though fools, need not 
err ?" Would you not believe that nothing 
could stand in his way to a direct approach 
to the author of salvation ? Yes ; judging 
from common analogy, you could hardly 
doubt, that a mind thus instructed, would 
know how to advance immediately to the 
Merc v- Seat. You would look for neither turn- 
ings nor windings, in a question that ap- 
pears to carry its solution with it. See how 
we mistake! The plan that was so easy be- 
comes intricate, the moment it applies to af- 
fairs of our own ! The very rules we should 
have laid down for others, and in which we 
should have had every confidence, in their be- 
half, we are unable to reduce to practice for 
ourselves. 

How shall we account for this ? Does 
conviction darken the understanding ? Or 
does ft enfeeble our abilities ? Or why, other- 



J.KTTER IV 



1(K 



wise, should we not appropriate to our own 
use, what we should have prescribed to others, 
in similar circumstances ? 

This is not the place to solve these diffi- 
culties, although it might not be hard to do so. 
The truth, however, is as we have represent- 
ed it — that competent as one thus instructed 
might believe himself, to teach others in a 
matter in which he has had no personal ex- 
perience, he finds his ability sadly diminished 
when the case becomes his own. Instead of 
proceeding, without waiting for intermediate 
measures, directly to the Redeemer, we see 
him, from the first moment of anxiety, en- 
veloped in perplexities of which he had not 
thought, and which he would have declared 
entirely extraneous from a sincere inquiry. And 
he may long linger in this embarrassment, 
equally unhappy and sinful as it is. 

The awakened sinner, who has been accus- 
tomed to the sight of others in a similar 
state of mind, is too apt to form conclusions 
from what he has thus seen or heard ; and 
to consider exactly the same experience indis- 
pensable for himself. , He knew that such a 
one was the prey of distress, during a given 



] 04 LETTER IV. 

space of time : that such and such was the 
conflict he sustained ; until, at last, the Re- 
deemer pitied his sufferings, and granted an 
answer to his prayer.' Now this whole re- 
presentation is incorrect ; and not only so, 
but its conclusion is fallacious. All which he 
heard, or saw, gave him no fair insight into 
the truth. The simple fact here, and in every 
one of those cases which are presented in 
such a form as to lead to the inference 
that God is keepins: the sinner at a distance 
to experiment on his feelings and disposition, 
is as follows : — All delay arose from miscon- 
ception of the truth as it is in the Gospel — 
from unwillingness to relinquish cherished 
sins — or from an unhallowed attempt to treat 
with the Creator on compromising terms. — - 
But never does it arise from any cause that 
is contradictory to the idea of freely tender- 
ed pardon ; or which does not prove, and en- 
hance, the guilt of the sinner. And, — it might 
be added, — all that pity which is so often 
expressed for the sufferer, by those around 
him, is usually misapplied : This sympathy,, 
which wears so amiable an aspect, may, not 
unfrequently, be in behalf of a struggle dis- 



LETTER IV 



105 



creditable to its subject; and in behalf of sor- 
rows which have their origin in enmity to 
God. I know there is an apparent sternness 
in this opinion : but it is inseparable from the 
Scriptural position — that all the fault of tke 
sinner's delay is, exclusively, in himself 

Contrary to this, is that sentiment so gene- 
rally entertained, relative to the necessity of a 
certain preparatory process, which the sinner, 
it is supposed, must undergo, previous to his 
acceptance by a pardoning God. Hence we 
hear of necessary stages, in the course of in- 
quiry : unavoidable goals which are to be suc- 
cessively reached. Now all this arises from 
transplanting the impediments and mistakes 
which had been in the way of one Inquirer, 
to that of another: or, from supposing that 
we are to make provision for mistakes, which 
are thus considered almost half justifiable be- 
cause they are common : or, — still worse, it 
supposes the errors, and their corrections, of 
one man indispensable in another. And hence 
those multifarious directions which are some- 
times given to the Inquirer — as if he were un- 
der an absolute necessity of doing, or suffer- 
ing, to a certain amount: hence those specu- 

14 



|06 LETTER IV. 

lations on the precedence of the operation of 
certain feelings and graces: And hence many 
of those abstruser questions, which have been 
connected with the subject ; and which be- 
long rather to the philosophy of the human 
mind, than to the revealed doctrines of our 
blessed Saviour Oh it is in vain, and worse 
than in vain, to attempt to reach those secret 
springs which move on the spirit, by divine 
command, to the activity of a new life. And it 
is absurd to chalk out a certain course of 
particular emotions, or cares, for every In- 
quirer. Adopt it rather, as a fundamental 
point of belief — as one that is emphatic, and 
of practical value, — that, whatever the situa- 
tion in which the Holy Spirit may find the 
sinner, in respect either to external circum- 
stances, or the state of his heart, that is the 
situation in which he is bound to surrender 
himself at once to his God. The correctness 
of this is plain from the very design of dis- 
pensing mercy ; which is, not to bring to light 
any thing acceptable in the Creature, for he 
lias nothing that is so — but to reveal the per- 
fections of God in the gift of pardon, even to 
the most vile, through his Son Jesus Christ. 



LETTER IV ]07 

And any thing which the Inquirer may be 
(aught, or may do, against this design, is 
against his own interest and the honour of his 
Maker. 

Apostolick example, on this subject, is wor- 
thy of attention : When the preaching of Peter, 
on the day of Pentecost, awakened thousands 
to a sense of their guilt, he did not wait for 
any interval to complete a preparatory pro- 
cess ; but carried their attention immediately 
to Him whom they had crucified.* And af- 
terwards, when the same Apostle charged others 
of that infatuated people with the murder of 
Messiah, without delaying to ascertain the ef- 
fect of this accusation on their minds, he bids 
them repent; and, in the same breath, pro- 
claims the hope of pardon t Such too was 
the course adopted by the Apostle Paul, in 
Antioch.t These inspired men certainly knew 
well that a direction to any intermediate ex- 
perience between the knowledge of the truth 
and its acceptance, would have kept the sin- 
ner in an unnecessary suspense, while it at- 
tached an uncertainty to the scheme of the 
Gospel. 

* Acts, iii : 12,— 26. t Id. iv : 11—12. Acts, xiii : 24—41 



108 LETTER IV. 

In full consistency with this, the design of 
the Saviour may be discovered in some of 
the instructions which fell from his own lips* 
Let us take the example of the Prodigal Son : 
I know that the interpretation of this Parable 
is generally supposed to refer to the Jews 
and Gentiles — the former bring the elder, and 
the latter the younger son — and that there- 
fore, as relating to the external kingdom of 
Christ, it cannot apply to individual expe- 
rience, except, as Divines say, " by way of ac- 
commodation." The moral which is drawn from 
it, in this interpretation, is, I have no doubt, 
consistent with the truth; but not with the 
design, which our Lord seems to have had 
before him. The whole context refers to the 
murmuring of the Pharisees, because Publicans 
and Sinners were admitted into association 
with Christ. And it is, therefore, literally the 
returning sinner who is represented in the 
Prodigal Son. In this beautiful Parable, the 
penitent child " comes to himself." Unsatis- 
fied wants, and the danger of starvation, stare 
him in the face. He has the sense of a truth 
of which his judgement might have convinced 
him before. And what is the consequence ? 



LETTER IV. ]Q9 

does he linger? Does he wait to make him- 
self better fitted to receive compassion ? No : 
the truth of his own sad condition and the 
ability of his Parent to relieve him from it, 
come home together to his bosom : and his 
determination is, — " I will arise !" — to do what ? 
to carry apologies to his father ? no : to say, 
"I have sinned." But the most interesting 
point in the tale, is that which follows — His 
father saw him "a great way off;" and with all 
the eagerness of parental affection, hastens to meet 
him. The consciousness of the sinner that he is 
" a great way off;" gives no reason why he should 
stay there, or why he may not be met by a 
merciful Saviour. This case certainly supposes 
the sorrow of the penitent ; and that for sin com- 
mitted against an affectionate parent : yet is it 
of practical application to the awakened sin- 
ner in the first moment of his anxiety. 

But lest there should be some remaining 
doubt in your mind, whether something merit- 
orious, and of self-made preparation, should 
not be accomplished by the Inquirer, previous 
to his approach to the cross, 1 would go even 
further, and say, that if no uneasiness had been 
created in the bosom, and if he had been only 



21Q LETTER IV. 

this instant warned of his iniquity, and ad- 
monished to repent without delay, such an 
admonition is not to be parted from the per- 
adventure of pardon. 

Take another Scriptural example : An un- 
principled man is rebuked by one of the Apos- 
tles, with a spirit and power which awed and 
confounded him. The culprit had committed a 
crime, which to this day bears his name : But 
the pungency of reproof was not permitted to 
go by itself. He was commanded to repent, 
and " pray God" for forgiveness.* Now such 
a direction as this was a mission to the Re- 
deemer directly. It was sending him imme- 
diately for pardon, to the very One he had 
offended. No obstacle was supposed in his 
way, unless it be that of moral inability. No 
extraordinary task was proposed. And every 
moment of delay, under any pretence, would 
have been increasing his guilt and his danger. 
How exceedingly out of place, then, would have 
been any of those questions which are often 
agitated on this subject ? — whether such a person 
be capable of prayer ? — or whether, with a tem- 
per so estranged from God, attempting such an 

* Acts, viii : 22. 



LETTER IV 



111 



exercise would not be mockery ? In the present 
instance, the direction was most probably given 
through the inspiration of the Holy Ghost him- 
self. 

I am aware that from the Scriptural truth, — the 
prayers of the wicked are an abomination to the 
Lord, — it has been argued that the unrenewed 
man ought not to attempt such an act : and that 
if he did so, it must be unacceptable to his Ma- 
ker: And the alarmed sinner himself will some- 
times dread the danger of adding to his sinful- 
ness by calling upon his pure and holy Creator. 
And yet it is certain that the advice which com- 
mends him at once to Jesus Christ, as his only 
hope, is a direction to prayer. It is indeed per- 
fectly true that the natural heart is far from being 
an object of complacency with God. And it is 
not less true, that much of the distress which he 
encounters, and much of his mortified feeling 
under serious impressions, arise from a rebellious 
disposition, and an obstinate temper of unbelief. 
And, so far as these exist, he is under the frown, 
and not the compassion, of his God : And the 
sympathy which a pious bosom would entertain 
for him would be no other- than that which it 
would manifest towards the infatuated devotee 



U2 LETTER IV. 

of sin, who continues in crime while he is reap- 
ing its fruits of sorrow. But then on the other 
hand, the earnest desire for salvation from ruin- 
implanted as it is by nature, and aroused as it is 
under conviction — is surely not offensive to our 
Maker. And so far as this alone is concern- 
ed, he is truly an object of pity both lo the 
Christian and his God. 

A quotation from a late learned Divine occurs 
to me, as of so much importance, on this part 
of our subject, as to merit transcription : 

" The prayers of convinced sinners, it is said, 
" are insincere, and therefore abominable to 
" God. In answer to this objection, I observe, 
" that a sinner whether convinced or not, may 
" undoubtedly pray with insincerity, in all in- 
" stances ; but there is no invincible necessity, 
f that his prayers should always be insincere, 
" notwithstanding he is a sinner. A sinner may 
v from a sense of his danger and misery, pray 
" as sincerely to be saved from that danger 
" and misery as a saint. His disposition, 1 
" acknowledge, is still sinful ; and his prayers 
" are wholly destitute of moral goodness. But 
" the mere wish to be saved from suffering is 
u neither sinful nor holy. On the contrary, it 



LETTER IV. ]]3 

" is merely the instinctive desire of every per- 
* cipieut being ; without which he would cease 
u to be a percipient being;. That there is any 
" thing hateful to God in this wish, whether 
" expressed in prayer or not, 1 cannot perceive, 
" nor do I find it declared either by Reason, or 
" Revelation. It may indeed be united with 
" other desires, and those either virtuous or sin- 
" ful ; according to the prevailing character of 
"the mind in which it exists; and the whole 
4 state of the mind may be accordingly de- 
" nominated either virtuous, or sinful. Still this 
" desire is neither morally good, nor morally 
" evil ; and therefore, neither pleasing, nor dis- 
"pleasing, as such, in the sight of God. 

" That God pities sinners as mere sufferers 
" will not be doubted : Otherwise he would not 
" have sent his Son to redeem them from sin, and 
" misery. That he pities them more, when strong- 
" ly affected with a sense of their guilt and mis- 
" erv, than when at ease in both, will, I think, 
" be readily believed. The sinner is certainly 
" not less an object of compassion, but much 
" more, when feeling the evils, in which he is 
" involved ; and I can see no reason why he 
" may not be an object of divine compassion on 

16 



|14 LETTER IV. 

<{ that account, as well as ours. The cries of 
" the sinner for mercy are not, therefore, in 
" themselves sinful ; and there is nothing to 
" make the sinner less, but much, apparently > 
" to make him more an object of pity."* 

To this it may be added, that the prayers 
of Cain, of the children of Israel, of the Nine- 
vites, and of other unregenerate men, have 
been answered. The doctrine, then, which en- 
joins an immediate approach to the great hearer 
of prayer, or, in other words, requires our 
coming to Jesus Christ immediately, is equally 
consistent with both reason and the Word of 
God. s 

I cannot doubt that the Inquirer liiay be, in 
a certain sense, truly sincere, while he hangs 
back in expectation of a kind of mental dis- 
cipline — a routine which he does not under- 
stand, but which he has been taught to anti- 
cipate. And hence his common reply to the 
repeated solicitations of the Gospel is, " / am not 
prepared." But he has conceived wrong notions 
of the scheme of Redemption. He has adopt- 
ed some ideas which obscure its light, or em- 
barrass its simplicity with perplexities which 
ought to have no connexion with it* How 

* Dwight's Theology : Sermon 75. 



LETTER IV. \ 1 5 

Strange a posture of affairs is this which is 
supposed to be his ! The Inquirer is willing — 
so is God. The Inquirer is waiting for the 
Redeemer, — and the Redeemer waiting for 
him ! How inconsistent with the design of 
the Bible ! How derogatory to the character 
of the Saviour ! 

There is another expression, which, although 
not intended to be of exactly the same im- 
port with the last, indicates a temper some- 
what similar : " 1 am not holy enough to ap- 
ply for salvation." Let us give this a (ew 
minutes, attention : 

That the awakened sinner is not to remain, 
idle is very certain, He is to renounce every 
habit, or practice, which he knows to be 
guilty. He is to weigh his actions by the stan- • 
dard of God's holy Law. He is to look care- 
fully into his disposition and temper ; and to 
turn from the snares to which they expose 
him. He is to abandon all that is at enmity 
with the will of his Maker But the whole of 
this is contemporaneous with his approach to 
Christ : it is part of the very act of ' arising to 
go to his father.' But to consider this a pre- 
parative course ; and his success here a pre- 



JIG LETTER IV. 

liminary of his own, is obviously incongruous : 
for it is plain to him that he cannot succeed 
in his unaided efforts to obey the dictates of 
an enlightened conscience. He will require 
that divine assistance which mercy has ten- 
dered. But the very act of seeking this, is 
that of approaching Christ. . The pretence, there- 
fore, that he will remain until he is holier, is 
an absurdity in terms. 

This reason for keeping back, moreover, 
perverts the requirements of God ; and looks 
to salvation, not as a gift, but as a reward 
of holiness. Or, if this be denied, does he not 
contemplate a partial change, to be self- effected, 
and to be accepted as an earnest of his dispo- 
sition to accomplish more ? Some decree of 
self-complacency is to accompany this offering: 
and there will be quite as much in preparing it. 

But is all this disavowed ? Does such a one 
disclaim the idea of a reward f Does he say,— 
" 1 am now so vile that I tremble a? the thought 
of entering into the presence oj a pure and holy 
God ; and foi this reason 1 would ivatch and 
fast, and examine myself that I may be in a 
better state for believing in (. Urisi ?' 7 To do 
Uiis is well : But to render the doing of it 



LETTER III. j 1 7 

the reason and the means of keeping him from 
the Cross, is turning that which may be good 
into an instrument of evil. Alas, how slowly 
we receive the blessed truth, that salvation is 
fiee ! Even when the heart has been in some 
little measure humbled, it opens with apparent 
reluctance for its reception. 

The sinner knows that he stands in need 
of mercy ; but he clings to the idea that he 
is to render himself a fit recipient. He will 
tell us that he does not deserve Heaven, and 
yet, with a strange equivocation, he hopes to 
deserve the grace which is to carry him thith- 
er. He does not expect to merit pardon, 
but he does expect to win the divine appro- 
bation which is to lead to his forgiveness. What 
contradictions ! and how contradictory to the 
Word of God ! for the design of the blessed Gos- 
pel was expressly to shew " the exceeding riches" 
of grace, and to let the transgressor see, not only 
that he may be saved, but that in his salvation 
the undeserved mercy of Jehovah is clearly man- 
ifest. Attach, then, the smallest merit to the sin- 
ner, and this design is completely frustrated. 
Favour is changed into Justice, — Grace is trans- 
formed into Jt)ebt. 



|]8 LETTER III, 

Oh, why should not the truth be received as it 
is? The physician of Gilead is not only able, 
but ready, to administer a cure to all who sin- 
cerely apply to him. And can it be necessary 
that they should be better when they approach 
him, if he can heal them as they are ? It is in- 
deed to be regretted that the simplest of hea- 
venly directions, are so often obscured by artifi- 
cial dogmas, and by laboured descriptions of 
certain holy dispositions, as pre-requisites for 
all who would venture into the presence of 
Christ. How common, therefore, is the prayer 
that the Lord would grant a certain something — 
it is not known what — or enable us to reach a 
certain point — it is not known where — in prepa- 
ration for accepting the terms of the Gospel ! — 
All of which means neither more nor less than a 
desire that the Creator would enable us to 
achieve something as the ground of acceptance 
with himself. Here is a palpable inconsistency—* 
a prayer for a gift which is to become the ground 
of merited reward ! And yet such inconsistences 
are not rare in the conduct of the awakened sin- 
ner. 

But there maybe a principle, deeper than this, 
concealed under the expression, " 1 am not holy 



fcETTER IV , -j]9 

enough" It is sometimes the mere cloak of a 
spurious humility : for it is expressed when the 
utterer cherishes a latent hop* 1 that this low 
opinion of himself will lead to the divine com- 
placency. And if it were sifted, we should see 
the mingling of pride. 

One thing is certain, — that while such a man 
professes to esteem so highly the holiness of God 
as to feel unworthy to approach him, he practi- 
cally denies other points of his character, for 
which Jehovah claims our homage, and which 
are the medium of access to his presence. 

But we will dismiss this subject. There is far 
more interest in the one which you have sugges- 
ted in the following words : " My heart is in- 
sensible to the truth* of which my judgment is con- 
vinced : 1 am incapable of feeling on the only mat- 
ter which is worthy of emotion." It is doubtful 
whether, in the whole mass of complaints uttered 
by Inquirers, there is one more universal than 
this : and it is certain that there is not one 
more painful. But it is not confined to the 
Inquirer. It is very frequently heard from the 
lips of the Christian : and it is, not seldom, 
one of those mistakes which arise from a sin- 
cere jealousy of self. 1 am acquainted with some 



120 LETTER IV, 

whose whole lives are shaded by this supposed 
insensibility : Who invariably condemn th( m- 
selves in their most favoured moments ; and who 
are ever ready, on this account, to appropriate to 
themselves, all the evidences of hvo( crisy : Who, 
when the tender mercies of Christ, or his suf- 
ferings and death, are the subjects of meditation, 
are prepared to exclaim, " What goodness ! 
what love !" — and yet complain that all this is un- 
affecting to their hearts. There are many who 
admit, with apparent admiration, all that is gen- 
eral in the fullness and loveliness of Christ ; but 
who find a serious difficulty, when they think of 
a particular application to themselves, or when 
they look for a personal operation in their own 
souls. They can unite with others in admiration 
and praise when they consider the excellencies 
of the Sa iddr : Bu f , because their feelings are 
not sufficiently strong, unbelief begins to question 
and limit the mercies of God ; praise gives 

w r ay to silence, admiration is changed into 

doubt. And hence that cheerlessness and melan- 
choly which attach themselves to the devotional 
exercises of many ; and which, while they per- 
vade the wi'tiie mind, give it a cast of dejection 
which faith alone can alter. It is not rare to 



LETTER IV. 



121 



hear such persons say, " I could almost desire 
some trial, or affliction, that might melt down 
this heart of stone — that some feeling might 
flow — that I might enjoy some little evidence of 
a soul susceptible of love. But as it is, unmoved 
as 1 am, — ray God, — in a sinful lethargy, 

" 'Tis just, I own, that thou depart 

From so insensible a heart : 

Nor would I shun the sad decree 

To spend my days in grief for thee ! 

'Tis not the painful I deplore 

But sin's benumbning, hard'mng power !" 

Here is a cause of distress which would ap- 
pear, to many, almost beyond the reach of rem- 
edy. And while the sufferer continues to look at 
it as such, it would not be easy to apply a reme- 
dy, even were it near at hand. 

It should not be denied that tenderness of feel- 
ing, is, to a certain extent, necessary. It is im- 
possible to experience the power of divine truth 
without it. But there are some errors in this 
state of mind which are worthy of our attention. 
And it is well worth while to attempt their re- 
moval : To do so, we will commence with the 
following sentence : 

We may as readily deceive ourselves in respect 
to emotions arising from a religious subject as in 

16 



122 LETTER IV. 

respect to those which exist in a matter of berievo* 
lence. To illustrate this remark : — A statement 
of human misery and wretchedness, made before 
two persons, may produce the following effects: 
one may be touched with sympathy ; and the 
tears which flow, may lead to a persuasion of 
tenderness of heart. The other mav hear the 
tale with an unaltered eye, and yet think deeply* 
The first may shrink from entering the abode of 
squallid misery, and exhibit no movement of 
principle ; while the second will devote time and 
care to mitigate the evils of the sufferer. These 
are things of daily observation. So there are 
those who can shed tears of apparent sorrow, 
when the pathetic tale of a Saviour's life and 
death is told ; while the fixed thought of others 
may be accompanied with unmoistened cheeks : 
but the feelings of the first may be " as the early 
dew," while the impressions of the second are as 
indelible as the etchings of steel. Now which 
was the neighbour here ? which the Levite, and 
the Samaritan ? A difference — a most essential 
difference — must be admitted to exist, in both 
physical and moral constitution, and it should 
not be forgotten that while a physical weakness 
may lead to what is called tenderness of feeling? 




LETTER IV. 123 

this ready access to tears which relieve an op- 
pression, may prevent an abiding effect on the 
mind. 1 would not say that it is always thus : 
But 1 would not hesitate to say, that we are not 
always proper judges of our feelings; and that 
the self-jealous Inquirer is very likely to deceive 
himself in the judgement he passes. 

The truth is, there is no quality belonging to 
human nature, on which more stress is laid, than 
on susceptibility of feeling. It is the hope of 
thousands, who have no just idea of their true 
condition, but who regard this susceptibility as 
a demonstration that their hearts are open to con- 
viction, and their consciences unseared. Others 
attach to it a moral quality, with which it is sup- 
posed to have an inseparable connexion. Both 
these notions are false. In the first case, sensibility 
may be merely a material of the physical constitu- 
tion, always liable to excitability, even while the 
moral sense becomes blunted. What a melancholy 
evidence have we of this in disappointments, in 
bereavements, and in all the changes which are 
rung by sorrow ! A variety of circumstances, 
wholly disconnected with the subject of religion 
itself, may render us more alive to a melting im- 
pression at one time, than at another, while we 
are as far from repentance as ever. 



|24 LETTER IV. 

In the second case, it is not uncommon to 
find the impenitent sinner consoling himself in 
the thought that his heart is sympathetic : attri- 
buting hi* sufferings, before the spectacle of mis- 
ery, to some intrinsic worth in his nature : while 
there may be as much virtue in any other feeling 
within him as in this ; and while this very sympa- 
thy might lead him, if he were a Civil Judge, to 
sacrifice justice, and the weal of society, to re- 
lieve a personal and lawless sympathy. 

I repeat it, — and you will pardon the repeti- 
tion,— -a certain tenderness of feeling is necessary, 
as an evidence of our earnestness ; but its extent is 
not to be prescribed, and we are not judges of it, 
always, ourselves. 

Nor is this all : apart from what I have said, 
the same subjects will not affect constitutions 
of equal feeling, in the same way, nor to 
the same extent. And yet they may produce the 
same results by apparently different means.— 
Now carry this remark through all the diversities 
of character which they may reach : and you 
will observe how incorrect would be any general 
conclusion from the mere intensity of emotion. 

But we may advance beyond this : there are 
those whose conduct is governed by their sensi- 



LETTEK IV 



125 



bilities,- whose sense of duty is dependent on 
emotions ; the two rising, or departing, together. 
Here principle and feeling are one. And we, 
accordingly, find the zeal of such persons as 
fluctuating as their excitements. 

Mistakes on this subject may be, and often are, 
productive of serious mischief. This is evident 
in those cases in which weak, but perhaps sin- 
cere, Christians, are examining their frames of 
mind even to a partial exclusion of the principle 
of obedience: And in which, too, they may un- 
warily condemn a temper that is unobtrusive 
and silent, because the workings of the heart 
are not visible in the unfilled eye. 

But while all these may be errors of the 
Christian himself — errors by which he is deceiv- 
ed in respect to both his own heart and those 
of others — the awakened sinner is still more in 
danger of deception. He has read of the suffer- 
ings of others, or heard them described ; and he 
conceives of a uniform rule. He understood, in 
some measure, the extent of these sufferings, and 
deems a participation necessary. He may have 
taken his conceptions from the ministrations of 
the holy Word, in which a delineation of the 
returning penitent may be justly given, without 



126 LETTER IV. 

possibly suiting bis own circumstances, in all 
their particulars. Besides, — when he reads forms 
of devotion, or even a prayer for the penitent, 
or a hymn to a similar purpose, he discovers the 
tone of feeling too high to correspond with his 
own : and he forgets that no precise rule of ad- 
measurement was ever intended ; or that such 
forms may be designed often, rather to iift, 
than to meet, the state of personal feeYmg : And 
that, even then, their authors could never have 
expected an equal effect upon all who heard or 
saw them. But unhappily, our inferences are 
prone to rashness, in this state of mind : And we 
are apt to attach an undue authority to the com- 
positions, as well as the opinions, of pious men. 

It is a sad mistake when the pungency of sor- 
row is deemed the proportion of sincerity ; and 
artificial efforts are made to promote and sustain 
a deep work of the passions, without directing 
the mind to any other than this single end. And 
it is hence the Inquirer, after being made sensi- 
ble of his condition as a sinner, is sometimes 
kept back from the proper object of his inquiry, 
in order to obtain a certain state of distress 
with which he is directed to meet his Saviour. 
And with this in view, the Law, in all its terrors; 



LETTER IV. 



127 



is placed before him. Its thunders are repeated, 
and its flashes renewed. 

I have already intimated that no man is likely to 
lay hold of the conditions of the grace of God, 
without a sense of his necessitous situation. 
But , it is delusive to suppose that the Law, dis- 
connected from the Gospel, will produce this 
important effect. It may furnish a knowledge 
of sin ; for this is its proper tendency. But 
while it stands alone, though it compel convic- 
tion, it will be as likely to drive to desperation, 
or to legal views, as to fit the soul for an un- 
derstanding of God. Believe me, it is in the 
death of Jesus Christ, that the curse of trans- 
gression is most clearly legible : While it is here 
alone that an antidote is offered to the wounds 
of conscience. Without a survey of this, the 
Law can never be made the instrument of evan- 
gelical repentance. And, with all the alarm 
which the sight of impending doom may create 
in the mind of the sinner, there will not be a 
single disposition, which will either place him 
in a better condition for receiving the mercy of 
his God, or produce a single desire that could 
lead him to true holiness. 



128 LETTER IV. 

Such a prescription, then, is unscripturaL 
And I may add, that its effects are likely to ter- 
minate in an abandonment of the whole matter 
on the part of the Inquirer ; and in leaving him 
more completely out of the reach of conviction 
than ever. And yet this prescription most usu- 
ally meets the views of an awakened sinner, who 
often looks with as much assurance for a certain 
preparative measure of feeling, as for the final 
issue of conversion. " Oh that I could feel /" he 
frequently exclaims ; while the very earnestness 
of his manner betrays his sensibility. " 1 am 
" willing to suffer any thing, or to undergo any 
" anguish that would bring hope to my soul, or 
* make me an object of attention to my God !" 
What vanity of effort is here ! And how it di- 
verts the mind from its proper object ! But all 
this is the suggestion of an uneasy and inconsi- 
derate mind. 

Can it be, My Dear Sir, that Jesus Christ de- 
mands penance at our hands ? Have not the ex- 
piatory sufferings which are necessary for our 
salvation, been undergone by himself? And is it 
not true that u there remaineth no more sacrifice for 
sin ?" It is an idea of natural religion, which 
has been incorporated into a corruption of Chris- 



LETTER IV. ]29 

tianity, that the sufferings we may inflict on 
ourselves can be of avail in the great object of 
salvation. That disposition, then, which ren- 
ders you willing to endure any thing as part of 
the terms tendered to God, in exchange for what 
he alone can give, — whatever vehement desire it 
may be supposed to exhibit, — is radically legal in 
its character. 

1 admit that a lamentation over hardness of 
heart, or an expression of sorrow because the 
judgement and affections do not act efficiently 
together, is consistent with the most unleavened 
sincerity. But then to require a given degree 
of animal feeling in all constitutions, before the 
soul is supposed in a fit state to surrender itself 
to the Redeemer, is an intermeddling with the 
simple plan of the Gospel. I beseech you, 
let these things alone. Be not among the num- 
ber of those who stand aloof from the Cross, 
because they have not undergone a due portion 
of suffering: who grow impatient under delay, — 
indifferent, — and then retreat back forever : — the 
sad history of many a soul. Never attempt to 
take the gauge of your sorrow, or to look for mer- 
cy with any hope proportioned to mere emotions-: 
Rather take no note of your anxiety. But in- 

17 



J30 LETTER IV, 

quire of your own heart, — ' am I not a sinner 
condemned, justly, before God ? Am 1 not utterly 
helpless in myself? And yet is there not grace, 
full and free, offered in the Gospel, to every such 
sinner ?' 

Before I conclude this letter, let me invite vour 
attention to a few words, touching another 
complaint — i% I have reason to apprehend that 
1 have no conviction of sin. It is true, my judge- 
ment is convinced ; and my understanding assents 
to the awful truth that 1 am guilty before God. 
llet 1 have no clear views of my sinfulness. The 
whole subject is confused to my sight. I wish to 
confront my iniquities as they are ; and 1 ivould 
make them distinct to my view, whatever pain it 
might occasion. But I labour to effect this, in 
vain" This difficulty belongs to no particular class 
of experience. It may be connected with much 
distress ; and mav be mentioned in the bitterness 
of despair. Or, it may belong to a more calm, 
but not less serious, operation of mind. But 
wherever it may be found, it carries with it a train 
of apprehensions for which there may be much 
reason, and which are often exceedingly perplex- 
ing. 

It is true that without some knowledge of our 
sinfulness we shall hardly approach the Saviour 



LETTER IV. |32 

in a posture of acceptance. And it is equally 
true, that a clear discovery of our guilt and de- 
pravity, is highly desirable. But still it would 
be inexpedient to propose any invariable rule of 
judgement : or to require the same distinctness 
of conception, in every awakened sinner. That 
very diversity of moral and physical constitu- 
tion, which produces a variety of degrees of feel- 
ing, may act with very similar effects on our con- 
ceptions of truth. I have known some of the 
most exemplary Christians, who were always 
ready to repeat the complaint before us: but 
who, notwithstanding, possessed almost every 
evidence that could be satisfactory to themselves, 
of having passed from death unto life. I have 
known others, who, in the commencement of 
their career, were equally solicitous on this ac- 
count, but to whom the evil of their hearts was 
more distinctly presented as they advanced in 
life. And there may be frames of spirit within 
all of us, which, without any assignable cause, 
render our views on this subject more discrimi- 
nating, or more confused. 

But I can come nearer to your state of mind 
by bringing before you two examples of hourly 
observation: The grossly impure or profane 



J32 LETTER IV. 

have always near them such tangible proof of 
their guilt, that if they are awakened to serious 
reflection at all, they cannot escape a sense of 
the evil. Even the laws and sentiment of society 
arraign them : and perhaps lead them, in a mo- 
ment of thoughtfulness, to compare their conduct 
with a more holy standard. Each act stands out 
prominently, and marks the temper and dispo- 
sitions of the soul : and while it displays a total 
unfitness for Heaven, justifies the sentence of 
condemnation. Such a man may be painfully 
sensible of his wickedness, even before he has 
entered on a close examination of his life : — 
There may be a living conscience within a heart 
that is dead. But, whenever such an investiga- 
tion is fairly begun, remorse will accompany it 
with equal pace. There can be no subterfuge 
here ; and there is very little room for sophistry o 
Whatever this sinner may finally do, he now 
pleads guilty to the charge of a witness within 
him. 

On the other hand, one who is distinguished 
by an amiable and moral deportment, may be 
confronted by no such accusers. The secret be- 
lief of his safety, which he has so naturally 
cherished, and which is so congenial with our 



LETTER IV. 133 

natural ideas of accountability, assists in con- 
cealing the true state of his heart. Now the dif- 
Acuity of convincing such a one of the evils of 
his soul, consists in the following truth — that ac- 
tions are more prominent to the sight, than motives ; 
when the former are flagrant, the attention may be 
arrested and retained by them, ivith comparative 
ease ; but motives lie deeper ; and it requires some 
strong inducement to lead us to examine them, 

I have seen a good illustration of this, in a 
pious young friend who is still living, an orna- 
ment to the Church to which he is attached : — 
During a visit which he once paid me, while un- 
der distressing concern, he gave me substantially 
the following statement : — sl I do not know that I 
" have ever been accused of what the world would 
" call immorality. The acquittal of a satisfied 
" conscience has constituted much of my happi- 
" ness. And even to this day, I do not know that 
" either of my parents ever impeached my con- 
" duct of a more serious crime than neglect or 
" carelessness. While I have sat under the sound 
u of the Gospel, 1 have admitted its excellence, 
" and always believed myself embraced within 
" its promises. I can remember when the affect- 
11 ing interview between the Saviour and the 



]34 LETTER IV. 

" youg Ruler, was the subject of a discourse which 
" awakened others around me, my own mind 
" was, for a short season, startled. I wished to 
" be made sensible of sin, but I could recollect 
" no obvious charge against myself. I could fix 
" my eye on nothing which could rivet its gaze ; 
18 and, as I passed willingly and rapidly to the 
" conclusion that I kept nothing back irom my 
" God, my peace was not long disturbed. Dur- 
" ing all this time I knew nothing of myself. It 
" had not occurred to me that the heartlessness 
" with which I discharged every duty, — the secret 
" pride which followed it, — and the insipidity 
" and tastelessnes of devotion, — were melancholy 
85 proofs of my unfitness for the society of Hea- 
" ven. Or, if a doubt ever remained in my 
" mind, it was easy to conclude that any change 
18 which I needed, would accompany my transi- 
" tion into another world. I did not then see 
88 how this unscriplural reliance opposed the mo- 
" ral government of God ; nor how the hope 
" I had cherished arrogantly superseded salva- 
" tion by Grace. In the midst of this security, 
** a circumstance occurred which threw me as 
"/near despair as I had been to presumption : It 
"was a temptation to commit a sin where there 






LETTER IV. ]35 

" was every thing to entice ; and, in the event of 
" detection, not much to lose, in the eye of the 
" world. It was a proposal of a Sabbath day's 
" excursion of pleasure. There was little time 
" to reflect ; and each moment swelled the force 
" of temptation. I yielded. And from that 
" hour, remorse has never left me. In vain have 
" 1 argued with myself that this is a solitary 
" evil. In vain I appealed to my own heart. 
" Even that seems changed. I see no more evi- 
11 dence of its innocence. I behold a selfish poli- 
" cy in all my motives, and a hatred of that ho- 
" liness which I had flattered myself I esteemed. 
"lam lost. And my doom is aggravated by the 
" remembrance of a life and a peace in direct 
" opposition to the scheme of the Gospel." It 
is not necessary to finish this story : the applica- 
tion is plain. 

But let us suppose the inducements to inquiry 
to be strong in any such case. Let the judge- 
ment be convinced that all this morality is of no 
avail. Still, while there seems little palpable to lay 
hold of, — and nothing which appears very near 
to admonish, — and almost nothing to awaken the 
feelings to a lively interest in the subject, — it 
may be exceedingly difficult to Cix and concen- 



3 3G LETTER IV. 

centrate the attention ; or to single out the lurk- 
ing evils of the heart. And yet if we were able 
to complete this purpose, as I have already said, 
the effects will vary in different persons, although 
the same end may be as certainly accomplished. 
The false conclusion, however, on the whole 
subject, consists in imagining that a certain in- 
tensity and fullness of conviction is required on 
the part of the sinner, before he is at liberty to 
recognize the invitations of grace as applicable 
to himself; — that this conviction must be well- 
defined, and its action regular. The Redeemer 
once said — ■" they that be whole need not a 
physician, but they that are sick :" and hence it 
has been concluded that unless there be a con- 
sciousness of the power of disease, all applica- 
tion must be in vain. But the Redeemer could 
not have meant that none stand in need of a 
physician but such as are fully sensible of their 
state. His expression was a reproof to the 
querulous Pharisees, who considered themselves 
whole, and the Publicans and Sinners sick. And 
this the Saviour seems to have admitted for the 
sake of argument, while he rendered it a reason 
for his associating with those of disreputable 
name. But, surely, he did not mean to intimate 



LETTER IV. J37 

that all these degraded men had a just sense of 
their guilt, and that it was expedient, for this rea- 
son, that he should associate with them. 

Apply to this subject a passage from the pro- 
phet Isaiah, which plainly refers to the invitations 
of sovereign grace through the future Messiah :— 
" Ho every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters, and he that hath no money, come ye, 
buy and eat ; yea come buy wine and milk with- 
out money, and without price "* The thirst re- 
ferred to in this case was certainly not for spiri- 
tual blessings. It was for earthly happiness only. 
It was the panting of an immortal soul for plea- 
sure. And it was indicated by toil and expense 
to purchase enjoyment which our smitten earth 
has not to give. The remonstrance which fol- 
lows this passage tells us as much : — " Wherefore 
do ye spend money for that which is not bread, 
and your labour for that which satisfied! not." 
There is no necessary connexion between such 
a desire as this, and that hungering for right- 
eousness of which the Saviour spoke in his Ser- 
mon on the Mount And the same may be said 
of his address on the last day of the Feast. 



• Is. lv : 1, 

id 



138 tfiTTER IV. 

The degree of the conviction of sin, then, has 
nothing to do with the offer of salvation. This 
is put into the hands of all. And it is intended 
to meet the necessities of every Inquirer after 
happiness 

You are to look to the Gospel, My Dear Sir, 
for that peace which your soul desires ; and not 
to your particular mental impressions. And you 
see the reasonableness of this, in the fact that the 
man who is under the most powerful evangelical 
convictions, is the last to consider them accepta- 
ble on their own account Let your convictions 
then, be what they may, they are never to afford 
you satisfaction in themselves. 

Adieu — remember that, " by grace are ye sa\ ed 
through faith: and that not of yourselves ; it is 
the gift of God ; not of works, lest any man 
should boast." 

1 am yours, &c* 



139 



Complaint of irresolution — Nature of unstable resolutions-* 
Peculiarity of situation — The folly of speculating on the 
expected change — Vain fancies — " God will not pardon 
me." — " I do not see how the promises can be fulfilled in 
myself" — The sufficiency of pardon — Advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

When 1 adverted, in my Third Letter, to 
that buoyancy of feeling which is so frequently 
a subject of complaint with certain Inquirers, 
and which so often leads to a desperate renunci- 
ation of the whole pursuit, 1 did not mean to 
confound this complaint with that of any other 
sense of irresolution : For there are certainly 
many who mourn, with bitterness of heart, over 
the changes of an irresolute and wavering mind, 
and yet who have no characteristic levity of dis- 
position. Irresolution is the lament of many a 
Christian. And the very language in which you 



|40 LETTER V. 

4 

have expressed your feelings, may be the utter- 
ings of a soul whose supreme affections are given 
to God : But it may likewise be adopted by one 
who is influenced by a temporary earnestness, 
and never comes to a favorable decision. You 
tell me — " There are times when the object of 
" my salvation assumes an overwhelming impor- 
" tance ; when every thought is engrossed by it ; 
" and when it would seem impossible to divert 
" mv attention from the reflections it occasions : 
" And yet, the next hour, insensibility succeeds ; 
" and 1 cannot recal a single idea, as it was. 
" There is a fluctuating operation of the mind 
" which seems peculiar to the subject. In the 
" event of ordinary affliction, I have noted a 
** sense of my loss to vary ; but even when it 
u was least intense, and when my faculties were 
" abstracted in some degree by other things, I 
" was conscious of an oppressive weight on my 
" heart. But here, on the contrary, I discover 
" a vacillation for which I cannot account — a 
<s rapid transition from interest to stupidity." 

There is nothing extraordinary in all this, al- 
though the subject of such experience is apt to 
attribute much mystery to it ; to imagine a pow- 
erful supernatural agency employed against him ; 



LETTER V. ]^f 

or, to suspect that either his natural peculiarities 
shut him out from the hope into which others en- 
ter, or that God, from some unrevealed cause 
will not pardon him ; or else, that he must, in 
some fatal moment, have committed the Unpar- 
donable Sin : And such suspicions, you tell me, 
have often covered your prospects with dark- 
ness. 

1 confess that where this difficulty exists, if it 
do nor lead to the suspicions you have noted, it 
may very easily end in some other conclusion of 
despair. And there are some minds, which, 
from habit or constitution, must necessarily en- 
counter it : Minds which take their present tone 
from their last associates ; retain an impression 
from the last object of attention, to give way to 
the next : never uniform in their character for 
the space of a day. In such a case, we 
should look for this complaint. And important 
as retirement is, in all instances of religious in- 
quiry, we should here, particularly, urge a seclu- 
sion from any objects, or occupations, which are 
not within the sphere of the most indispensable 
duty ; and an unremitted confinement of atten- 
tion to the great matter of salvation. And the 
advice would not be different from this, which 



J 42 LETTER V. 

we should be disposed to give, where irresolu- 
tion arises from the slightness of the impression 
made on the mind. 

In either case, the consciousness of irresolu- 
tion is painful, and often discouraging in the ex- 
treme. The awakened sinner, in the first hour 
of alarm, determines with much earnestness, that 
he will not permit his thoughts to be diverted 
from the great concern of eternal life. Some 
intrusive trifle engages his attention: but he re- 
turns from his wanderings to seriousness again, 
ashamed of himself, and perhaps uneasy for the 
consequences. The same process takes place 
again and a^ain. Irresolution becomes a habit; 
and the sinner loses all confidence in the bare 
possibility of a happy issue. Or, where such is not 
the result, tne mind acquires an unprofitable 
restlessness, and becomes almost incapable of fix- 
edness of thought. Some extraordinary power 
would appear necessary to impart an habitual 
seriousness, by altering the very shape and 
texture of the mind. 

This picture is strengthened, when we recollect 
the reviews which such a man takes of the past. 
When, it may be, at the very time of his arrival 
at a point of renewed seriousness, he remembers 



XETTER V. 143 

that he had reached this more than once before, 
and was led from it again to prrfect listlessness 
and indifference : when he can remember, too, 
exactly similar operations of his mind ; and, as 
if he had recorded his thoughts at the time, he is 
able to ponder them over, and to see in them the 
very state which distinguishes him now. No 
train of reflections can be more dampening than 
those which follow, where retrospections of this 
character are fully indulged. Without even 
an active conviction of sin, he may feel the 
dull influence of anticipated lethargy stealing 
over his spirits — and all effort seems a mockery, 
alike to his soul, and his God. 

" I cannot weep ! I dare not pray t 
The very source of tears is dry ! 
And what — when hope is lost for aye- 
Avails the prayer of agony 1 
A dark cloud lowers before mine eye — 
A chain is twined around my heart — 
I cannot pierce that clouded sky — 
I cannot tear those bands apart." 

The principal part of the original fault, in 
this melancholy case, consists in the defective 
nature of the resolutions which were so often 
broken. I have already said, that it is possible 
to resolve with such a vehemence of feeling as 
entirely to overlook our natural weakness, and, 



J44 LETTER V. 

in the ardour of our determination, to forget ut- 
terly the strength of our foes. And thus we may 
offer our prayers for divine aid, while we feel so 
confident in ourselves that there is very little sin- 
cerity in the petition. We may imagine that we 
possess the two ingredients of a successful re- 
solve — reliance on God, and self determination — 
while there lurks within the heart all that could 
keep us apart from spiritual assistance, and \\ bile 
very little pains would enable us to detect an 
unhallowed and presumptuous confidence. 

Other resolutions are formed in the season of 
affliction ; and the state of mind which prompted 
them, may promise no better issue than the last. 
There is no condition in which we are more lia- 
ble to deceive ourselves, than that of temporal 
adversity. The partial subduement of passion 
which personal grief has effected, is mistaken 
for meekness ; the diversion of thoughts from 
objects of recent attention, is a fancied change 
of taste and desire, A sense of care and drear- 
iness takes the name of some Christian grace : 
And the mourner already imagines himself to 
have made an easy transition from wordiiness 
to piety. Or, if he do not assume so bold a 
conclusion, the resolutions which he forms are 



BETTER V. -J45 

entirely dependent on the intensity of his sorrow ; 
and his expectations of success are derived from 
the same source. 

This is a sad misapplication of the leadings of 
an afflictive providence ; which were designed, 
not to achieve his salvation by any special influ- 
ence in themselves, but to direct hirn to faith and 
repentance. 

But what should be done where a sense of ir- 
resolution, and of moral weakness, produces an 
influence so discouraging ? Is there reason for 
despair ? By no means. All this is a sad proof 
of human helplessness: But it is no evidence 
against the power of Christ to save. Such a one 
should feel humbled ; but not disheartened The 
recollection of the past should only furnish a 
strong argument for implicit reliance on the Sa- 
viour ; while it should teach him to lean no more 
on himself: and the very feelings which it might 
produce in the bosom, if they were rightly ap- 
plied, would be salutary. He might see that 
his case is desperate ; but that it is only a despe- 
ration in his own resources. It furnishes a rea- 
son why he should hope no more from mere hu- 
man efforts ; but it presents, too, a plea for the 
entire surrender of the soul to Jesus,—" Ok I 

19 



146 LETTER V, 

can do nothing /" exclaims the agitated and des- 
ponding spirit, as he comes down from his ex- 
ertion and labour. "True," — I would say, — " you 
can do nothing. The Word of God has affirm- 
ed this before you admitted it ; you are brought 
only to an experimental conviction of what you 
would not believe until this moment. Re- 
ceive, then, more readily the converse of this 
truth — Christ can do all things for you. Surren- 
der, therefore, your heart to him now, — when the 
lesson of your own insufficiency is so plain. — 
Behold, the Redeemer is emphatically denomina- 
ted the strength of them that believe : and the 
invitation of the Gospel is unto the sensibly 
weak." 

Alas, how sad is it, when this very essential 
discovery of indecision and imbecility, to which 
the Scriptures had pointed, has been made in 
our own experience, only to be perverted to evil, 
instead of leading to the Redeemer ! 

The idea of ' some peculiarity of situation, or 
some singular temperament of mind, excluding 
you from a state which you desire to obtain? is not 
uncommon, much as you complain of it 

If w r e could read the feelings of all Inquirers, 
it is probable we should find this impression writ- 



LETTER V. 147 

ten upon most of them. The frequenter of 
scenes of fashion and folly, — and the man in 
humble walks of life, — the nurtured child of 
Christian care, and the neglected offspring of 
Godless parents, — the vain and the proud, — the 
inconsiderate and the thoughtful,' — have their pe- 
culiar difficulties. Indeed, all habits, views, or 
feelings, which we may have cherished, previous 
to conviction of divine truth, will produce their 
appropriate, and corresponding effects on the 
mind, at this crisis. Some of these may cause 
more serious perplexities than others ; yet all the 
conduct, or maxims, of life that is past, will 
carry their consequences on, to thought or to feel- 
ing : And we may be unable to discriminate 
between these effects and the natural state of the 
heart. It is hence the Inquirer may think his 
lot singularly hard ; and that of another compa- 
ratively easy, without being able to judge be- 
tween the two. But then, apart from this,-— 
when the awakened sinner has been disappoint- 
ed in his anticipations ; when he has not found 
the path he is travelling such as he expected it ; 
and he is unable to account for the cares which 
embarrass him, it is a very natural conclusion at 
which he arrives, that his experience varies from 



|48 LEfTER V. 

that of any other; and that an inconceivable 
something forms a barrier between him and his 
God. And, not unfrequently, in searching for 
this, he leaves the track of plain duty ; and wan- 
ders, he knows not where. And then what a 
disposition is there to look around for analogies, — 
to inquire into the experience of others, — to in- 
stitute comparisons, — and to derive encourage- 
ment or despair from sources foreign from the 
great object of salvation ! 

A single consideration ought to banish all ap- 
prehensions produced by this supposed singulari- 
ty : The scheme of the Gospel, and the invi- 
tations of Scripture, are designed to meet every 
exigency. And if the cares and doubts of the 
Inquirer were a thousand times more distressing 
than they are, they would not furnish the least 
evidence against this truth. And were I about 
to account for the unhappy conclusions which 
are so often drawn, in this exigency, I would 
examine the present habits and practices of the 
complainer, in order to do so. And here it 
would be easy to discover the mind, watching 
the state of excitement, — speculating on ' its 
changes, — impatient and eager. Oh how w-ide- 
ly different is that more successful course of coht 



LETTER V. ]49 

duct which renders our difficulties a reason and 
a subject for prayer ; which makes all that is dis- 
couraging an argument for perseverance ; and 
which, taking hold of the precepts of God, turns 
them, after the example of the Psalmist, into 
materials of heartfelt petition !* 

But knowing as little as we do of the hearts 
of others, and yet entering into this needless 
comparison between ourselves and them — and 
judging, as we do, from what is visible to the 
eye, it is not astonishing that we often find little 
resemblance between ourselves and them. Nor 
is it a wonder that even the Christian very often 
believes his religious experience dissimilar to 
that of his brethren around him. But still, the 
grand and leading principles of human nature 
are every where the same ; " as in water, face 
answereth to face, so the heart of man to man." 
It is, therefore, worse than unwise to imagine 
the condition of our experience so remarkable as 
to be without the reach of the ordinary applica- 
tion of mercy. Such a conclusion is an impeach- 
ment of the sufficiency of red< mption, and an 
imputation against the veracity of the divine 
promises. 

* Psalm, li: 10. 



|50 LETTER V. 

Yet before I dismiss this ground of complaint 
altogether, I shall not omit reprobating a prac- 
tice which gives rise to it ; and which is entirely 
inconsistent with a speedy attainment of our end : 
I mean the practice of occupying the mind ivith 
speculations of what the future change is to be ; 
the manner in which it is to be effected, and the 
particular sensations we shall undergo. This is a 
busy idleness which never does good, but inva- 
riably leads to some evil : And although consi- 
dered innocent in itself, it has a direct tendency 
to defeat our purpose, as some employments, 
which appear to be of a more worldly nature. 
Indeed, the confusion of mind and thought which 
this practice produces, can hardly be too much 
deprecated. It keeps the Gospel out of view ; 
or suffers only an occasional appearance of it, 
while its main and ultimate bearing is lost. The 
consequence, as well as the fact itself, may be 
seen in a moment's illustration : — Any object 
which we contemplate ought to affect us accord- 
ing to its nature : but that effect will be in pro- 
portion to the impression it makes upon us ; 
and that impression, again, will depend upon 
the intentness and steadiness of attention to the 
object. Now, if we divide our attention, or 



LETTER V 



151 



suffer it to be engaged in analyzing the work- 
ings of mind, the employment is in opposition 
to the professed end we have in view. It is a 
mode of serious trifling which we exercise in no 
other matter. Let me suppose information of a 
very interesting nature to have reached you : 
would it be possible to detect yourself in labour- 
ing to discover the manner in which it operates 
upon you — the particular analysis of your feel- 
ings ? And would not any such abstruse rea- 
soning completely supercede the happy effect of 
the intelligence ? And so is it with respect to 
the offers of the Gospel. You believe that you 
are a lost sinner ; and that the only method of 
salvation is to be found in the scheme of which 
Christ is the founder and revealer. But if your 
attention be diverted from this, surely no expec- 
tation of its efficacy upon you can be reasonably 
entertained. That at which you are looking is 
not the Gospel ; but something essentially diffe- 
rent from it. 

This indulgence in the play of imagination 
often introduces a most powerful temptation in 
the way ; especially where previous habits insen- 
sibly lead to its exercise. There are those who 
live much of their time in regions of fancy ; 



i 



J 52 LETTER V. 

whose happiness is found in aerial matters and 
things ; and who have always a resort from pain 
to pleasure, in their musings. In such a case as 
this, the evil which I am now condemning is to 
be very seriously deprecated, as a powerful 
means of destroying the effect of conviction ; 
for while part of this precious period of his 
time is expended by the Inquirer in speculations 
on the anticipated change of his heart, he loses 
sight of the common centre to which all his 
thoughts should be directed ; and his sinfulness 
and danger vanish together from his sight. It is 
not merely a delay of the object avowedly sought, 
that is to be apprehended in this castle-building : 
Truth itself is sacrificed for that which is un- 
real. 

But more : In this idle occupation of specu- 
lating on the future change, all surmises are sure 
to be wrong. Fancy can bear no resemblance 
to the fact as it is. The Scriptures leave us 
entirely in the dark as to the mode and manner 
of divine operations. They negative all our pre- 
conceived views, while we are watching to as- 
certain the progress of the renewal of soul. We 
do know that in this great work the Holy Spirit 
exerts his influence : but this is all we can dis- 



LETTER V. ]53 

cover ; " whence it cometh, and whither it goeth" 
are known to God alone. There is a variety of 
questions here, which have occasioned much un- 
necessary discussion : whether this divine influ- 
ence act previous to a distinct perception of the 
truth, — and thus afford a capability of such per- 
ception : or whether, while the mind is directed 
to the truth, this divine influence accompany or 
flow from it, — and thus render it effectual : 
whether a change is to be effected so impercepti- 
bly that its particular developments cannot be 
distinctly traced in their progress, or in our re** 
view ; or whether some extraordinary excitement, 
overwhelming in its force, and memorable as the 
grand era of our life, ensue at once — all these are 
less than secondary matters with one who has no 
right to withhold a single moment from his God* 
But speculations of this nature are not the 
only ones with which the mind may be occupied 
in this important period. The discursiveness of 
fancy is always apt to extend anticipation to 
other things. In the prospective career every 
thing is scrutinized. Future schemes and plans 
are formed : their influence and bearing examin- 
ed : future habits, and the alteration they may 

20 



154 LETTER V. 

produce upon our feelings and temporal interest, 
come before the eye. 

There is one matter, in particular, which is 
very often prominent in the minds of those who 
are partially impressed : I mean that of making 
a profession of religion* So closely connected is 
this with the subject of religion itself, in the 
view of most, that when we have often spoken 
privately on the danger of neglecting the soul, 
a very frequent reply is, — " I am not fit to par- 
take of the holy communion." A reply which 
evades the point to which we wish the reflections 
directed. It is not an avowal of religion we 
are urging, at such a time : important as is the 
dying command of the Saviour, it is not likely 
to be neglected when the heart is surrendered 
to him : — but it is faith and repentance towards 

• 

God — it is the hazard of the immortal spirit, to 
which we are calling the attention : and if we 
can fix it on them we have accomplished our 
end. And yet there is a waywardness which 
turns the eye from piety to its profession. In the 
Inquirer this is very observable. He knows that 
a public avowal of his faith would succeed his 
attainment of grace. It is an act of the deep- 
est solemnity : and invested as it often is, by ad- 



LETTER V. ]55 

ventitious circumstances of awe in the mind, it 
is not unapt to engross his thoughts to the ex- 
clusion of what is more suited to his state. He 
believes, too, that such an act involves a vast 
amount of responsibility ; and his mind rumi- 
nates on this with doubt and fearfulness. He 
forgets that no new obligations are implied, and 
no new duties are enjoined in this important 
transaction : for every obligation, and every 
duty, which flow from an open espousal of the 
Redeemer's cause, were incumbent on us before : 
they do not arise from the act of consecrating 
ourselves, but from a previous divine command ; 
and we are no more at liberty to cull for our- 
selves certain precepts and to reject others, than 
we are to abandon at will, the whole of the sa- 
cred decalogue. All this, however, is too readily 
forgotten. 

Nay, his fears on this point are still more ex- 
cited, from a further cause : As more is expected 
from a professor of religion than from the mere 
worldling, — in the ideas commonly entertained on 
this subject, — an additional source of apprehen- 
sion appears before him, and perhaps completely 
supercedes the great object of inquiry. Let me 
bring to your notice an example in point, which 



15& LETTER V. 

now occurs to my memory. The heart of an 
acquaintance had been seriously affected ; and 
favourable expectations were entertained of the 
issue. A single thought which frequently pre- 
sented itself, ultimately checked his seriousness, 
and restored him more completely to the world 
than ever : He had been unsuccessful in mer- 
cantile engagements : And, in the midst of his 
thoughtfulness, he often compared the consequen- 
ces of declaring himself on the side of religion 
with this fact. " What will the world think of 
" me," — he would say, — " If 1 profess to be reli- 
■" gious ? It looks like a dishonorable covert from 
" scrutiny. It will be imagined a design to gain 
" the good will of others under a cloak of hypocri- 
" sy — an excuse from a possible reproach." You 
can easily judge of the effect of such apprehen- 
sions upon a high-minded spirit, conscious of its 
integrity, and shrinking from the imputation of 
wrong. The consequences were as I have stated. 
A continual recurrence to this ground of fear di- 
verted his attention from the state of his soul : 
and, at last, furnished a satisfactory excuse for 
postponing what conscience and the Word of 
God declared to be the duty of the present mo- 
ment. You observe the insidiousness of all this 



LETTER V. ]57 

reasoning. And you see how easily Satan may 
make an instrument of it to effect the purpose 
of diverting the soul from its eternal interests. 

This practice of speculating on the future is 
not visible to an observer. Nor is it often indi- 
cated by the Inquirer himself; unless it be visi- 
ble by some indirect hint ; or discoverable by 
questions which such speculation induces him 
to ask. It is, most usually, a secret employment 
which he would be ashamed to mention on his 
own part ; and of which, possibly, he is not al- 
together conscious : and yet to which there is a 
natural tendency, during intervals when the mind 
is not more profitably exercised ; and when this 
employment furnishes a partial relief to the anxi- 
ety of his feelings. 

Leaving this, let me go back with you to 
another of the grounds of discouragement, which 
you have taken occasion to suggest : 1 mean " the 
feai that God, for some unknoivn reason, is not 
willing to para on you, however free his pardon 
and mercy may be to others." It would be unjust 
to say, that this complaint is always insincere. 
Yet it is often expressed in the petulance of the 
moment, without any serious conviction, and 
perhaps, without any strong suspicion of its truth ; 



158 LETTER 7, 

and, in such case, it is not easy to measure the cri- 
minality of thus sporting with the divine promises. 
Or, it may be the conclusion of a mind suffering 
under deep depression, and expressing, it hardly 
knows what : a thoughtless vent of feeling, the 
fruit of selfishness. Or, it may arise from pre- 
sent disappointment. Or, it may be, as it very 
often is, the dictate of remorse. But whatever 
its source, it always indicates a want of conside- 
ration, or ignorance of the plan of redemption. 
And not a few instances occur, in which it is ut- 
terly impossible to reason with the complainer : 
iin which he seems to foster a melancholy belief 
against all the promises ; and an indisposition to 
examine the means or conditions of salvation. 
And yet such a man might have been able to 
argue well against the unreasonableness of his 
own inferences in any one else. On the other 
hand, it is possible that the same truths, which 
lie knows how to apply to a friend, but knows 
not how to appropriate to himself, might effectu- 
ally reach him when they come from other lips. 
Or, it may be, that when they have failed at one 
itime, they may be successful at another. So fit- 
ful and capricious is the state of the awakened 
sinner ! 



LETTER V. 159 

In some instances, the complaint of which I 
am speaking might be expressed in other words — 
" I do not see how the promises of God could be ful- 
filled in me" — the means of their accomplishment 
are not visible. Here is a character of unbelief 
somewhat resembling that of the Samaritan Lord, 
in days of old ; who refused faith in a prediction 
because he could not see the means of its com- 
pletion. Because he could not decide whence 
succour could come, he discredited the pledge of 
its coming at all. And his infidelity ended in 
his own personal ruin ; though the promise was 
redeemed. It is often thus with the sinner. Be- 
cause he sees no hope in his own resources ; and 
does not see how God can operate without them, 
he frequently perishes in his incredulity, within 
the very reach of salvation. Alas, unbelief of 
the divine promises is often the last sin of which 
we are conscious ; and it may be committed at a 
time when we are least likely to be aware of 
doing so. A proud reasoning that contradicts 
the word of God, and gives the lie to the Holy- 
One of Israel, may exist where we imagine a 
mere humble and humbling despondency. 

You have already seen that it is inconsistent 
with the divine economy of grace to refuse the 



160 LETTER V. 

application of the Inquirer for the sole reason 
that he is not embraced within an elective decree : 
and the following remarks may serve to convince 
you that the exclamation so frequently heard from 
the desponding sinner, — " my sins are too great 
to be forgiven" — is without any foundation in 
truth. 

The most prominent trait in the atonement of 
Jesus Christ is, that if it be sufficient to procure 
the pardon of a single sin, it is equally so to co- 
ver the most aggravated and complicated guilt 
The salvation of a single soul required a sacri- 
fice of infinite worth ; and no number or extent 
of crimes can, therefore, be committed, to put 
the transgressor beyond the reach of its efficacy. 
The Scriptures always speak of its entire suffici- 
ency; and refer the loss of the soul to its unbelief, or 
to a rejection of the conditions of grace. You 
have oftened remarked how they contrast the 
condition of a penitent Magdalen, and a mourn- 
ing Publican, with that of the self righteous Pha- 
risee. And this position is finely exemplified 
after the Saviour's ascent, when his murderers 
stood convicted before Peter, and, sensible of the 
atrocitv of their guilt, asked, — u Men and breth- 
ren, what shall we do ?" — U ever there were an 



LETTER V 



161 



instance in which we might have doubted the 
salvation of the sinner, it was this. These men 
had witnessed the miracles of the Saviour — had 
seen successive evidences of his divine mission — 
had heard his heavenly instructions — had con- 
sented to his death, effected under perjured ac- 
cusations — had taunted him with incompetency 
to save himself — and seemed to have sealed their 
certain doom by the most awful imprecation that 
ever ascended to God, — " his blood be upon us 
and our children !" And yet the answer of the 
Apostle indicated no wavering in his own mind, 
respecting the possibility of their salvation — " re- 
pent and be baptized, every one of you, in the 
name of Jesus Christ." — 'Repent, — and by a 
publick avowal manifested in baptism, take him. 
to be your Saviour whom you treated with scorn, 
and of whose death yourselves are guilty.' 

And it deserves your consideration that the 
word of God, when it announces the efficacy of 
the Redeemer's blood, never annexes a proviso 
that the iniquity be not too great : On the con- 
trary, it meets any doubt that could arise on this 
subject in the mind of the sinner, and antici- 
pates all the fears it might possibly occasion, in 
language which cannot be misunderstood. What 

31 



162 LETTER V, 

a beautiful instance have we of this, in the mes* 
sage of God by the prophet Isaiah — " Come 
now and let us reason together : though your sins 
be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow ; 
though they be red like crimson, they shall be as 
wool." And then, lest fear should still be awak- 
ened, through a misapprehension of the Creator's 
character, and the transgressor should find a plea 
against all hope, from the unrelenting temper of 
the deeply-injured party, God has left with us 
Jhat most important admonition — " My thoughts 
are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my 
ways, saith the Lord : For as the Heavens are 
higher than the earth, so are my ways higher 
than your ways, and my thoughts than your 
thoughts."* 

And it is this very freeness and sufficiency of 
pardon, which, if duly considered, are so admi- 
rably adapted to melt the heart of the sinner, 
while they take away all possible excuse from 
the impenitent. If a doubt touching the fullness 
of salvation remained, and if he had reason to 
pause in order to settle the question whether he 
could be included in its offers, there would be 
some apology for his delay. But the simple re- 
Is, lv : 8, 9, 



LETTER V. 1(33 

flection that nothing on the part of God can with- 
hold the most abandoned sinner from mercy, 
ought to be a powerful means of contrition, while 
it should lead to an immediate surrender of the 
whole affections to Christ. 

Is it not, then, adding unbelief to your former 
sins, to insist on your being an exception to a 
universal rule ? Is it not criminal to indulge in 
such awful fancies, in direct opposition to the 
declarations of the Gospel ? Living in a world 
where the most guilty has been pardoned, the 
most ungodly has been sanctified, and the most 
miserable blessed, what folly to retain a doubt of 
the riches of grace ! What wickedness thus to 
veil the glory of Jehovah, by making his thoughts 
and ways as ours, or by ascribing to him pro- 
mises to whose performance he is not equal ! — 
Let all discouraging surmises alone : Believe, — 
for God hath said it, — that nothing can exclude 
you from the benefit of the Redeemer's death 
but impenitence and unbelief on your own part. 
Oh it is distressing to see the convinced sinner 
pacing dejectedly around the promises of Christ ; 
beholding their infinite worth ; desiring to share in 
their participation; and yet, not only not approach- 
ing a step nearer to them, but listening to the idle 






164 LETTER V. 

vagaries of a spirit distressed, and canvassing the 
question whether he be not an exception to a rule 
which is otherwise evidently universal! Ah, my 
dear Sir, such sorrow as springs from this unbelief 
is only making work for deeper remorse. It is 
adding reproach to the reproaches which have 
already fallen on the Saviour. It is nurturing a 
a feeling as likely to be destructive to your own 
best interests as it is dishonorable to him. 

See, too, what a mischievous delusion is this 
under which you are now labouring. While 
you are brooding over this distress* and feeding 
the grief that preys upon your peace, you are 
disposed plaintively to ask, " why does God per- 
" mit me to endure this sorrow ?" And you do not 
see that the fault is your own : that it is a sorrow 
which " worketh death ;" which is no part of the 
means of your salvation, or of your pardon. — 
You attempt to persuade yourself that there is no 
hope in your behalf, while you gather all your 
conclusions from a mere moodiness of feeling. 
And it is upon this criminal state you anticipate 
the pity and compassion ol Jesus. 

Believe me, a heart penetrated with a sense 
of its past ingratitude and guilt, and looking to 
the Saviour for bis pardoning mercy, will never 



LETTER V. \Q5 

be spurned from the seat whence he dispenses it. 
Hie to the Cross. The Redeemer can never wil- 
lingly afflict the penitent at the place where, in- 
carnate, he suffered for the deliverance of his 
sinful creatures from sorrow and death. There 
maintain a resolution to stay And if the dread 
of perishing ever steal over you, encourage your- 
self with the simple language of the poet, 

" But should I die with mercy sought, 
When I the King have tried, 
I there should die, (reviving thought !) 
"Where ne'er a sinner died." 

But if, on the contrary, you nourish apprehen- 
sions, which the whole tenor of Scripture concurs 
in reproving; if "wearied with the greatness of 
your way," you continue to murmur and repine, 
the whole consequences and guilt are incurred 
by your own personal means. 
Farewell ! 

I am, as ever, yours, &c» 



167 



B, flg IP E IB B VL 

Our propension to extremes — The Unpardonable sin — Ex- 
planation of passages relating to it — An example of the 
clanger of error on this subject. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

Has it ever occurred to you how sadly we 
are prone to extremes in the matters of eternal 
interest ? While we are yet unimpressed with a 
sense of our condition, we are not only willing 
to admit the extent of divine mercy, and the suf- 
ficiency of pardon, but we are even disposed to 
believe them ready at our beck ; and, not unfre- 
qu ntly, secretly to fancy our salvation almost 
necessary to the happiness of our Maker. We 
merge all his attributes into that fictitious quali- 
ty, — unconditional pity ; while we consider its 
very times and seasons in our own hands. How 
easily we then overlook every perplexity which 
ean accompany the Inquirer, and imagine thp 



Igg LETTER VI. 

space between our mere wish and its object, so 
short and practicable that all present anxiety is 
superfluous. But how the scene shifts when we 
obtain some little insight into the nature of our 
own hearts ! The divine compassion which ap- 
peared so accessible, and perhaps so venal, gives 
place to the scrutiny and exactions of justice. — 
Where now is the belief which we had so cov- 
ertly cherished of a Heavenly interest in our 
favour ? Where is the persuasion founded on 
we know not what, — that we were safe what- 
ever became of others ? They have given way 
to a conviction nearly as strong — that we are 
precluded from hope. With such facility do we 
make the transition from presumption to despair ! 
Our late petty excuses for a neglect of religion, 
and all those miserable subterfuges to which we 
love to resort, give place to new cares — arising 
from mistakes in the character of God, or from 
misconstrued expressions in his holy Word. 

Extremes meet. Either presumption or des- 
pair may keep the sinner back from salvation ; 
and while it is not easy to say which of them is 
the more offensive in the sight of God, we know 
that either may be cherished without reflecting, 
at the time, on its moral tendency. Thus, the 



LETTER VI. 



169 



Inquirer may sec his past security in its true light, 
while he is sensible of no guilt in questioning, as 
he now does, the promises of his Maker; or in 
limiting the benevolence of Christ. So difficult 
is it to keep in sight the sin which now besets us ; 
and so much more prominent are other sins than 
our own ! 

Besides, 1 have often thought that there is a 
tendency in the anxious mind to seize on what- 
ever can add to its perplexity ; as a diseased appe- 
tite longs for what would have been loathed in a 
state of healthfulness. And it is by this tenden- 
cy we account for cares which ought never to 
harass the awakened sinner; and for contradic- 
tions inconsistent with a proper approach to Him 
who is " the way, and the truth, and the life." 

Among these subjects of distress it is not won- 
derful that the apprehension of having commit- 
ted the Unpardonable Sin is often included. — ■ 
When the Inquirer cannot discover the causes 
of his failure, and has been occupying his atten- 
tion with something extraneous, he very easily 
fancies that some secret and mvsterious cause is 
operating against him. And, especially, when 
he reads that there is a " sin unto death," — a trans- 
gression which can never be forgiven, — he is 

22 



J 70 LETTER VI. 

not unlikely to appropriate to himself, all the hor* 
rors and guilt of that terrible evil. If he be not 
able to recal to mind any act of peculiar atrocity 
into which he has been led. or any outrageous 
expression against the authority of Heaven, he 
can, perhaps, remember when he strove against 
the convictions of his mind, and very possibly 
did despite unto the Holy Ghost. Or, it may be, 
that without conviction himself, he attributed the 
work of God, in other minds, to some unhallow- 
ed cause ; and now recollects his mistake with all 
the bitterness of remorseful feeling, and all the 
terrors of a visible doom. Or, if neither of these 
be visible in his past experience and conduct, he 
suspects that in some ill-fated hour he may have 
sinned beyond the hope of mercy, and uncon- 
sciously incurred the penalty of irremissible 
guilt. In a state of mind agitated by such fears, 
he is not likely to review the past, with all the 
deliberation the occasion demands, or to put a 
fair construction on the difficulties into which he 
is led. And the very anxiety which his fears 
have created, is often attributed to the dire trans- 
gression which he imagines himself to have com- 
mitted ; or more immediately to the spiritual de- 
solation which is supposed to have followed it. 



LETTER VI. 



171 



When we add to this the superstitious dread, 
which often accompanies the mention of this 
deed of darkness, and which has been increased 
by publick accounts of certain memorable ex- 
amples, or by instances that are said to have oc- 
curred within the memory of some around us, it 
is not wonderful that suspicion should almost 
grow into proof. Nor should I be surprised if, 
in cases where such terrible forebodings have 
sometimes engrossed the mind, and no relief had 
been furnished to the despondency they occasion- 
ed, a dying bed has sometimes disclosed an aw- 
ful scene of despair : And the evil which exist- 
ed in the imagination alone, has effectually pre- 
cluded all effort to obtain the pardon of God : 
just as an imaginary disease has as effectually 
terminated in death, as a disorder that is real and 
local. But although despair in a death hour may 
be part of the effects of a sinful life, it is unfair 
to attribute it to a cause with which it may have 
no immediate connexion. 

To allow yourself to be disturbed by vague 
and indefinite apprehensions is never wise. But 
to permit them to keep you back from the ten- 
dered mercy of God is both folly and sin. Be- 
fore you suffer, then, any conclusion against your- 



]72 LETTER VI- 

self, carefully travel over your ground, and at 
least understand the premises which lead to so 
sad an issue. — Now, are you perfectly assured 
what the unpardonable sin is ? — If not, any in- 
ference against yourself has been taken from the 
obstacles in your way — from the state of your 
own mind. And whatever this may be, it can 
present no effectual bar to your salvation. But 
are you aware that there is not a single question, 
within the circle of theological discussion, which 
has led to such a variety of opinions, as the one 
before us ? It is a singular fact that we can enu- 
merate not less than thirty-two. And it is not 
unlikely that, on future inquiry, others might be 
found as injudicious as any among this number. 
As it may tend to shew you how much un- 
certainty is connected with the whole question, 
let me select a portion from the mass of opi- 
nions : 

« Villifying the Holy Ghost :"*— " The denial 
of God in Christ :"f — " An unmeet expression of 
the Spirit :"| — "Final impenitence :"|| — " The 
blasphemy of infidelity :"^ — " Sinning malicious- 
ly against the truth :"! — " Uni\ ersal apostacy 

* Epiphanius. t Hillary, % Cyril U Augustin. 

§ Ambrose- If Lyra, 



LETTER VI. 



173 



from God, by which the majesty of God is ma- 
liciously opposed :"* — " Opposition to the Word 
of God while convinced of its divine authori- 
ty :"| — " Blasphemy in the face of miracles :"t — 
These are the opinions of older writers. Mo- 
dern authors are less divided : but still differ 
much on the subject. Some have contended 
that a rare combination of circumstances is requir- 
ed in the commission of this sin. Others insist 
that, in the present day, it is not possible to be guil- 
ty of it under any circumstances. While a few 
have held up the texts which are supposed to 
refer to it, as matters of awful warning. 

Some tell us that the Unpardonable Sin is a 
denial of Christ under oath, — a crime to which 
persecution exposed many in the early ages of 
the church. But if this were so, the Apostle 
Peter must have been guilty of it ; for he " began 
to curse and swear, saying, I know T not the man." 
And there is reason to believe that the guilt of 
many impenitent sinners is still more aggravated, 
in their bold enmity to God, and in giving utte- 
rance to language daring as that of the perjured 
disciple. 

* Beza. t Musculus, Calvin, Bucer and Pi^ator, $ Chry- 

sostom. 



1 74 LETTER VI. 

Some would solve the difficulty by a suppositi- 
tious case : " If the two characters, aud the 
different sins, of Peter and Paul were united in 
one person, this unpardonable guilt would be in- 
curred."* But this supposition is fanciful in the 
extreme : A moment's thought will convince 
us that no such man exists. 

Other critics have contended that from the 
nature of the Hebrew idiom, in the Gospel of 
Mathew, we are to understand that the crime in 
question is not absolutely unpardonable ; but only 
comparatively so, when viewed in connexion 
with others. And that no other construction than 
this would be consistent with our Lord's pray- 
ing for his enemies on the Cross.f 

But let us proceed to a cursory examination 
of those texts which have occasioned the per- 
plexity we are considering. The first occurs in 
MathewJ — u 1 say unto you, All manner of sin 
and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men ; but 
the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not 
be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speak- 
eth a word against the Son of Man, it shall 
be forgiven him : but whosoever speaketh 
again?? the /JHoly Ghost it shall not be for- 

* Reynolds. i See Waterland's Sermon on Math, xii : 31, 32. 

t xii : 31, 32, 



LETTER VI. ]75 

given him, neither in this world, neither in 
the world to come." You will remember that 
our Saviour had just exercised his miraculous 
power in the cure of a demoniack. The Phari- 
sees saw that this proof of special and divine au- 
thority could not be contravened. Foiled, then, 
in their efforts, they attempted to destroy the cre- 
dit of the miracle, by imputing the whole agen- 
cy to Satan. It was in this their criminality 
seems to have consisted ; as another Evangelist 
tells us — "because the Pharisees said he hath an 
unclran .spirit" The doctrines and work of 
the Holy Ghost were not only rejected, but ma- 
liciously calumniated, and imputed to the Prince 
of Darkness. 

Now it is somewhat questionable how near any 
sin committed at the present day, can approach 'o 
this It is certain that malicious opposition to 
the miracles of the Holy Ghost cannot be exhi- 
bited ; for no such testimony of divine power is 
now visible. And with respect to the spirit of 
the threat itself, the exposition of some other texts, 
before I close this Letter, may, perhaps, throw 
some light on it. 

The next passage under consideration is found 
in the Epistle to the Hebrews :* — " For it is in>- 

* vi : 4. 5, 6, 



1 76 LETTER VI. 

possible for those who were once enlightened 
and have tasted of the Heavenly gift, and were 
made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have 
tasted the good Word of God, and the powers 
of the world to come, if they shall fall away, to 
renew them again unto repentance ; seeing they 
crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and 
put him to an open shame." We should exa- 
mine these expressions separately : 

The persons alluded to were " once enlighten- 
ed" Life and immortality being brought to 
light, all who had received knowledge of the 
truth were called " enlightened" in distinction 
from the moral darkness of Heathenism. But 
this illumination, although it might bring some 
hope to the mind, is not to be confounded with 
the sanctifying and saving influence of the spirit — 
the only true hope of the soul. — " Have tasted of 
the Heavenly gift" — The term "gift" here, refers 
to the new Gospel state. And " tasting" implies 
so far an examination of it as to induce a convic- 
tion that it was a more excellent state than 
that in which the subject had been, while a Pagan 
or a Jew. A very similar meaning should be 
attached to " the good Word of God" — Being 
made "partakers of the Holy Ghost" is under- 



LETTER VI. J77 

stood, by our best expounders, to apply to the 
possession of those spiritual gifts which were 
sometimes conferred, in the Apostolick age, even 
on those who had only an historical or specu- 
lative faith : — among which were included the 
gifts of tongues and prophecy. " The powers of 
the world to come" meant the miracles performed 
under the Gospel dispensation ; which had al- 
ways been denominated " the age, or world, to 
come.*' 

Before we examine the remainder of this pas- 
sage, let me introduce another of similar im- 
port : " If we sin wilfully after we receive the 
knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more 
sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful looking- 
for of judgment."* It will assist us in our at- 
tempt to understand both these quotations, if we 
recollect that they were addressed to persons sup- 
posed to be familiar with the Law of Moses. 
In that dispensation, you will recollect that there 
were certain sins for which no provision was 
made by sacrifice ; — especially presumptuous 
transgressions ; with respect to which God had 
said, immediately after giving the regulations 
concerning sacrifices, — " But the soul that doth 

* Heb. x : 26, 27 

•23 



J 78 LETTER VT. 

ought presumptuously, whether he be born in the 
land, or a stranger, the same reproacheth the 
Lord ; and that soul shall be cut off from among 
his people. Because he hath despised the Word 
of the Lord ; and hath broken his command- 
ment, that soul shall utterly be cut off; his ini- 
quity shall be upon him."* Or in regard to open 
idolatry ; of which it had been said, — " If there 
be found among you, within any of thy gates 
which the Lord thy God giveth thee, man or 
woman, that hath wrought wickedness in the 
sight of the Lord thy God, in transgressing his 
covenant, and hath gone and served other Gods 
and worshipped them, fecf" The punishment in 
all such cases was death, by law. But are we 
hence to conclude that thf*re could be no remis- 
sion of sin in any case for which no sacrifice had 
been legally provided? — Surely not. Nume- 
rous transgressions were pardoned through the 
sacrifice of Christ, then remaining to be offered. 
You have examples of this in Aaron, David, and 
Manasseh ; for some of whose sins there was no 
sacrifice appointed by law. It is in reference to 
this the Apostle speaks, when he says of those 
who reject the atonement of Jesus Christ, that 

* Numb. *v : 30, 31. t Deuteronomy, xvii : 2—7. 



IETTER VI. 



179 



*' there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins." 
His meaning seems to be, that as there can be 
no salvation out of Christ, they must perish who 
persist in refusing this. But then such is neither 
more nor less than a case of final impenitence. 
And it is only as such the awakened sinner ought 
now to view it. 

There is another consideration which should 
always be kept in mind in reading the awful 
threatnings of God, — and that, too, when they 
appear, at first sight, entirely absolute : I mean, 
that all these threatnings are conditional. The 
declaration of Joshua to the children of Israel 
would seem appalling, — M Ye cannot serve the 
Lord, for he is an holy God; he is ajealous God; he 
will not forgive your transgressions nor your sins." 
Yet the Patriarch certainly could not have intend- 
ed to declare that there was no possible pardon 
for their sins, if they sought it in a penitent and be- 
coming manner. The same limitation must be 
preserved in reading the address of Moses, when 
he says of Jehovah — " Beware of him» and obey 
his voice, provoke him not, for he will not par- 
don your transgressions." 

It is true, My Dear Sir, that the language of 
Scripture, respecting apostates, assumes a pecu- 



J 30 LETTER VI 

liar awfulness : And it is indeed a melancholy 
thought that few of them ever reach repentance. 
And yet 1 would not dare conclude that their 
case is always hopeless. We have reason to 
trust otherwise even for this wretched and ap- 
parently abandoned class, in certain instances. 
The Apostle Paul, in his instructions to Timothy, 
plainly refers to them ; where, after speaking of 
Hymenceus and Philetus, who had deserted the 
truth, although they still retained the name of 
Christianity, he says, — If God peradventure will 
give them repentance"* Indeed of the former of 
these persons, and of another of the same de- 
scription, the Apostle had said that he had " de- 
livered them unto Satan ;" or, as the expression 
implies, had banished them from the Visible 
Church ; and that, not as a matter of mere ven- 
geance ; but in order that " they might learn not 
to blaspheme 55 — or, that they might be led to re- 
pentance. 

The last text which we will examine on this 
subject, and which seems less equivocal than 
either of the preceding, and has, perhaps, a more 
formidable aspect than any other in the Bible, is 
that of the Apostle John :f — " If any man see his 

* See the whole of this example— II Timothy, II Chap. 17, 18— 
24,25. t John, v : 16. 



LETTER VI. jcj j 

brother sin a sin which is not unto death he shall 
ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not 
unto death. There is a sin unto death: I do not say 
that he shall pray for it." There is something 
so terrifick in the language, " 1 do not my that lie 
? hall pray for it ," that it has often fore-gathered 
the despair of an impenitent and remorseful dying 
hour. We almost fancy before us the wretched 
subject, singled out by a judicial hand : the frost 
of the second death chilling all possible hope in 
his behalf: and even the Christian bidden to look 
with mute astonishment on the abandoned re- 
probate. All this appears to be the consequence 
of a construction \evy commonly put upon the 
language before us. And how many impolitic 
measures has it sometimes occasioned ! To what 
ill-advised and rash conclusions has it led, in the 
minds of some who mistook an active opposition 
to the cause of Christ for this nameless and des- 
perate crime ! 

Let me place before you the three or four 
of the most plausible interpretations of this ex- 
traordinary passage. The first is, %at it is in- 
tended as a general direction relative to the 
subjects of prayer — that we are bound to offer 
up our petitions for all, excepting those who have 



182 LETTER VI. 

committed the Unpardonable Sin. But this con- 
struction supposes the ordinary Christian always 
to know when the Unpardonable Sin has been 
committed ; which is absurd. And if it be said 
that the application is only to those who possess the 
gift of discerning spirits, then it w T ould favour 
the inference that this sin could have been commit- 
ted only in the early ages of the Church; or else the 
direction, if applicable at the present time, should 
have been accompanied by some obvious sign 
by which it might be distinguished. 

Another interpretation is, — " any transgres- 
sion obstinately persevered in ; and which, of 
course, not being repented of, must end in the 
eternal death of the guilty. This impenitence 
being known to the ancient Christian, lrom the 
simple fact that he was not moved by the Holy 
Ghost to pray for it, he conceived himself forbid- 
den to hope for pardon in behalf of the sin- 
ner. 5 ' But the truth is, we are no where 
encouraged to ask for the remission of unre- 
pented guilt, either for ourselves or others. 
The utmost »we can do, is to entreat that repen- 
tance may be given ; and all the rest will then 
be well. Yet, if the above interpretation were 
admissible, you could have no personal interest 
in the case. 



LETTER Vt, ]33 

Others suppose that the transgressor having 
been one who made a publick avowal of his 
faith in Christianity, and thus standing within 
the pale of the Visible Church, evinced, by his 
unholy life, that his profession was hypocritical ; 
and, that, accordingly, the Christian was not to 
regard him in the light of a brother, or pray for 
him, as such : because he could not plead any of 
the promises in his behalf. I have only to say 
that this construction seems to be rather con- 
strained. And yet if it were just, it furnishes an 
example of no possible application to the awak- 
ened sinner. 

The last interpretation I will mention, is the 
one which seems to me most consistent with the 
other portions of Scripture, already cited : 

You are aware that the primitive Church was 
guarded with peculiar care from the encroach- 
ments of vice ; and it was this which so effectu- 
ally secured its stability and extension. As one 
means of completing this end, the more flagrant 
violations of law were punished with visible, 
and often severe, temporal judgements. It was 
hence the Apostle said to the Corinthians, who had 
been guilty of most criminal irregularities in the 
ordinance of the Lord's Supper — "For this 



1 34 LETTER Vt . 

cause many are weak and sickly among you and 
many sleep" — or, are dead. But as the gift of 
healing was conferred on some of these early 
Christians, it was used in behalf of such as had 
repented of the sins which brought on the mal- 
ady. And it is to this the Apostle James refers, 
in a similar case,* I should find very little hesi- 
tation, in my own mind, in concluding that such 
is the reference in this contested verse. In that 
case, the restriction of prayer related only to 
the diseases in question ; and not in the least to 
the spiritual condition of the sufferer. 

I am very confident that the Word of God, in 
all its general representations of character, con- 
siders the sinner, while in this world, within the 
range of Divine mercy. If there ever have been 
any particular exceptions, it must have been those 
who, in the Apostolick age, after being privileged 
with extraordinary light, and gifted perhaps with 
miraculous power, turned traitors to the faith, 
and openly blasphemed the Holy Ghost. And 
this restriction of prayer was not unlike that of 
the prophet Jeremiah, in an earlier period of 
the Church ; when he was forbidden to ask a re- 
versal of the sentence to captivity, and yet, at the 

* v : 14. 15. 



LETTER VI. 



185 



same time, continued to admonish the people, 
and to pray for their salvation.* 

It should be admitted, — and the melancholy 
truth reveals an alarming admonition — that all, 
or any, opposition to Divine Grace, has a tenden- 
cy to accomplish its own work of ruin in the soul 
of the opposer. And it is not easy for us to say 
how far this tendency may be accompanied by 
the spiritual judgements of God. But one thing 
on this subject is very certain : — No one who has 
ever sinned beyond the possibility of remission, 
is painfully convinced of having done so, and yet 
still lives under the opportunities of the Gospel. 
A seared conscience and an impenitent mind 
must invariably attend the fate of the reprobate. 
The presages of this fate, — if any occurred at 
all, — would be faint and few. His calm would 
be unbroken. A fearful silence of all warning 
would suffer him to slumber on ; and the hour of 
his awakening would be in the light of Eter- 
nitv. 

An instance of the distressing effects of fear, on 
this subject, which now occurs to me, may not 
be out of place. It is one of the many which 
may tend to shew the consequences of error on 

* Compare Jer. vii : 14—16 with Micah vii : 8, 9^19, 20. 

24- 



186 



LETTER VI. 



a susceptible mind: Mr. L. had enjoyed the 
privilege of sitting under an able and successful 
ministry. His heart had been touched. And 
during a remarkable period, in which he saw 
many of his friends embracing the hope of sal- 
vation, his own convictions increased. Not long 
after, his feelings of impatience became sensitive. 
His attention was, subsequently, turned from its 
own proper object, to one more nearly connected 
with our natural selfishness. He ceased to be an 
Inquirer, and became an objector. It is hard to 
stop here. Opposition succeeded a habit of ob- 
jecting. An apparent bitterness of prejudice and 
malevolence of expression, were observable when- 
ever he opened his lips on the subject of religion, 
Still the past day of conviction was a memora- 
ble time to him. Five years afterwards, he was 
again aroused to a sense of his danger. And 
with the alarm came the frightful recollection of 
his former conduct. Language which he had 
uttered, — and which appeared nearly allied to 
blasphemy, — returned fresh to his memory. He 
accused himself of having committed the Un- 
pardonable Sin. All efforts to persuade him to 
the contrary were unavailing. The impression 
was daily deepening. His mind lost its elasticity ; 



LETTER VI. 



187 



and a moody temperament succeeded. His 
friends were alarmed. A suspicion was started 
among them, that his conclusions might be just. 
This he marked, and laboured to confirm it. He 
seemed, — I know not how, — to take a negative 
satisfaction in stating the desperation of his case ; 
and in watching the fallen countenance of sym- 
pathy. 

Many months had transpired, during which he 
was the subject of religious gossip with some,— 
of a kind of superstitious dread with others, — • 
and of fervent prayer with a few of the remain- 
der ; — when the case was stated to a judicious 
Minister, whom some Providence had called 
into the neighbourhood. He waited on Mr. L. : 
who, far from being averse to any conversation 
relative to his own state, seemed rather to court 
it. He was fluent in all the details of time and 
circumstance : and always ended his narrative 
with the declaration that he had ceased forever 
to pray. After a preparatory interchange of re- 
marks, he was asked — u You believe yourself 
guilty of the Unpardonable Sin ?" 

" I am sure of it." 

" In what did the crime consist ?" 

" I opposed the work of God." 



]gg LETTER VI. 

" So did Saul." 

" I denied Jesus Christ." 

il So did a Disciple afterwards honoured by 
his Master. 

" I doubted the power of Jesus Christ, after 
Strong evidences in its favour." 

" So did Thomas." 

" What ! are you attempting to prove by such 
examples that I am a Christian ?" 

" Not at all : I am only inquiring into the na- 
ture of your guilt ; and thus far I see no rea- 
son for despair." 

" I have hated God," — rejoined the self-con- 
demned, — " and openly avowed my enmity in 
sight of his Divine operations." 

" Thus far your case is lamentable indeed ; 
but not hopeless still. Our hearts are naturally 
at enmity with God. And I do not see why the 
open avowal of this, drawn out by the sight of 
the Law, into visible form, must necessarily and 
always constitute the guilt of which you accuse 
yourself." 

" 1 feel that I am eut off from salvation." 

" It is difficult to reason against your feelings, 
C4 But they are no proof on the present subject. 



LETTER VI. ]39 

" Let me inquire whether you desire the pardon 
" of your sins ?" 

" Assuredly ; if it were possible." 

11 Do you regret the conduct of which you ac- 
cuse vourself ?" 

" Certainly." 

u Do you sincerely desire repentance ?" 

" 1 would give the world, if it were mine, to 
be able to do so." 

" Then it is not possible that you have been 
guilty to an unpardonable extent : for these are 
characteristics of a state of mind faithless, but 
far from being desperate. And they come with- 
in the design of the Gospel invitations.' 5 

There was something simple and touching in 
this mode of ministering to a mind diseased. 
And it produced an effect which, probably, no 
other process could have accomplished. Mr. L. 
did not long survive this interview. But his liv- 
ing and dying hours were those of a favoured 
Christian. 

It is, perhaps, hardly fair to speculate on con- 
tingencies in such a case as this. But, human- 
ly speaking, had Mr. L. been removed from 
time, without such providential interference, it 
would have been with the melancholy conviction 



]90 LETTER VI. 

in his own, and other minds, that he had been 
guilty of this fearful evil. And yet, had he 
gone down without hope to the grave, final un- 
belief and impenitence would have been the 
ground of his condemnation, and not the guilt 
of the Unpardonable Sin. 

Let me pray you, My Dear Sir, to dismiss 
this whole subject, as one with which, at this 
time, particularly, you have nothing to do. — 
There is enough before you to engross all your 
solicitude, without seeking subjects of unnecessa- 
ry anxiety. 

Adieu. 

I am \ery truly, &c. 



191 



The disposition to discouragement — Discouraging texts in 
the Bible — An explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. i. 
28 — Hebrew, xii. 17 — Hosea. iv. 17. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

I would not say that it is always perverse- 
ness in the disposition of the Inquirer, which leads 
him to misapply the language of the Scriptures; 
although there might be some truth in a general 
charge of this nature. The timidity which the 
importance of the subject in which he is engaged, 
may produce in his mind, will easily awaken un- 
happy suspicions against himseif. And they may 
be led into activity by any thing which wears 
the semblance of discouragement. This is the 
natural effect upon a temper whose bias is sor- 
rowful ; and which is so much more readily at- 
tracted by difficulties than by the simplicity of 
the Gospel. Especially when we recollect, as I 



192 LETTER VII. 

have already intimated, how prone is such a mind 
to look for the causes of its perplexity out of it- 
self, and to fancy their existence where there 
could be no possible reason for fear. An accu- 
sing conscience is not only distrustful, but is a 
skilful artificer of its own sorrow. 

Some of the Scriptural passages which you 
have noted, are certainly adapted to awaken the 
inconsiderate, and to promote in us all a dili- 
gence to make our calling and election sure. — • 
But not one of them was designed to thwart the 
purpose of the sincere Inquirer ; or to render 
more precarious the confidence he is bound to 
repose in the Saviour. For proof of this position 
let us look into the meaning of some of those 
passages which are usually considered discoura- 
ging. And we will begin with that in the thir- 
teenth chapter of Luke : " Strive to enter in at 
the straight gate : for many, 1 say unto you, ivill 
seek to enter in, and shall not be ableP 

The difficulty which this text presents, arises 
from disconnecting it with the subsequent verse : 
And hence it is concluded that all who apply, 
sincerely, for salvation, will not be embraced in 
the number of the saved. According to this in- 
terpretation, the Redeemer's argument in favour 



LETTER VII. 



193 



of diligence, is drawn from the frequent failure 
of effort in the Awakened Sinner. A failure 
which, it is supposed, is attributed to a defect in 
the manner of seeking, or to a want of perse- 
verance and engagedness in that duty. 

Now it is perfectly true that inactivity is wholly 
inconsistent with success : that fundamentally 
mistaken notions are equally so : and that he 
who asks for pardon and mercy, without, in 
some measure, feeling the importance of the boon 
he solicits, will ask in vain. The word in this 
passage which we translate " strive" is a strong 
figure of speech, importing all that ardour and 
resolution which distinguish the successful an- 
tagonist, on the arena, or the victorious soldier 
on the field of battle. And it intimates that the 
" straight gale" is surrounded by powerful foes, 
through whom he is to contend his way. Il 
gives the reason of failure in many who set out 
with apparent sincerity. But while it does all 
this, it prejudges the fate of no awakened and 
penitent sinner. 

Had the Saviour meant that persons of the 
same degree of sincerity might fail or succeed ; 
and that the Sovereignty of God, independent of 
the desires and exertions of the applicant, — or 

25 



]94 LETTER VII. 

his faith or repentance — would decide the ques- 
tion of success, this would not only have been 
inconsistent with Scripture — not only discoura- 
ging in the extreme — but remote from the pur- 
pose which he seems to have had, at that time, 
befort him. He was not speaking of a change 
of heart, or the beginning of a new life. This 
had been his subject, on a former occasion,* 
when the expression " straight gate" referred to 
the commencement of the Christian career. But 
that occasion is not to be confounded, either in 
its time or circumstances, with the present, in 
which the same term has reference to the end of 
life — the entrance into Heaven. 

The present passage refers to a marriage fes- 
tival, according to the splendid manner and nu- 
merous attendance by which it was distinguished 
in Eastern custom : and during which the wicket, 
or narrow gate, alone was left open, that the 
crowd might not intrude, and that none but in- 
vited or accepted guests might enter. In such 
ceremonies, after a given hour, the door was shut f 
and all ingress was impracticable. 

You will observe, then, that there is nothing 
here in the language of Jesus Christ intimating 
that any who come unto him will be cast out 

Matth. vii : 13. 



LETTER VII, J 95 

But if a love of the world keep the sinner from 
the terms of grace, and he is rejected accordingly, 
the fault is entirely his own ; while the justice of 
God will be vindicated in his condemnation at 
the last day : And that, too, although the ex- 
cluded sinner may have worn the badge of a 
profession, and enjoyed all the privileges of light 
and knowledge. 

That passage in Proverbs which you quote— 
u Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; 
iJiey shall seek me early, but they shall not find 
me"* is less disheartening than you imagine The 
whole sentence contains a solemn warning to 
those who are averse to the knowledge of their 
natural condition — the great mark of the unregen- 
erate — and who practically despise the overtures 
of divine mercy. But then, that warning is taken 
from the final desolation of the impenitent ; and 
not from God's manner of dealing in the present 
world. The word " early" which obscures the 
sense, should be exchanged for " earnestly" — a 
translation which conveys a more consistent 
meaning. 

Your next quotation deserves more particular 
notice : Not because it really contains any very 

* Prov. i : 28. 



|96 LETTER VH. 

serious difficulty in itself, but because the mis- 
chievous impressions which a misunderstanding 
of it has sometimes left, are deep and distressing — 
" Let there be any — profane person, as Esau, ivho 
for one morsel of meat sold his birth-right. For 
ye know how that afterward, when he would have 
inherited the blessing he ivas rejected :for he found 
no place of repentance, though he sought it care- 
fully with tears.." 

There is something truly terrifying in the idea 
of a person deeply regretting his past misconduct, 
labouring to repent of the evil, but utterly unable 
to affect his mind with a proper sense of it. And 
this picture is the more distressing when accom- 
panied with the conviction of having forfeited all 
hope of salvation, for some petty present gain ; 
having bartered eternal life, for a momentary 
gratification, without the possibility of revoking 
the contract : and that, too, when the folly had 
been the impulse of passion ; or, still more excu- 
sable, occasioned by the cravings of hunger. It 
is this representation which often appears before 
the mind of the alarmed sinner, in the passage 
cited, and attaches an arbitrary precariousness to 
the salvation of the soul. And if, in addition to 
this, the dealings of God towards him, had been 



LETTEK VI/. |QY 

distinguished in his providences, in times that are 
past, a comparison with the case of Esau is easily 
instituted, and the most poignant reflections are 
gathered from it. He can possibly recollect when 
he had been penetrated with a feeling sense of 
his lost condition : v\ hen, for a season, the im- 
portance of religion had occupied and engrossed 
his thoughts. He can recollm, too, how he 
abandoned the inquiry unde^ the influence of 
worldly considerations; or, it might have been, 
for some short-lived pleasure. Desirous as he 
may now be to renew those impressions, he finds 
it not possible to recall the same class of feelings. 
And sensible as he may be, of guilt and ill-de- 
sert, he bitterly laments his inability to reach a 
state of mind, which he considers irrecovera- 
bly lost. He fancies himself unable to " find 
place of repentance, though sought carefully 
with tears." And he sees in Esau, an instance 
so closely resembling his own, that hope dies 
within him as he contemplates it ; and he be- 
lieves the only alternative now before him to 
be a return to the world, or a fruitless brooding 
over his lost condition : — a sad choice of evils, 
either of which must be fatal to his eternal 
happincss. 



198 LETTER VII. 

That it is possible to " seek a place of repen- 
tance carefully with tears" without being ever 
able to comply with the primary condition of 
salvation, supposes that irremediable state which 
distinguishes none but the lost. And yet an ap- 
prehension of such a state has more than once, 
to my own knowledge, been wrought in the 
mind of the sinner, by the text we are now con- 
sidering. Nor is it suprizing that it should be 
so, when we recollect the lively and pointed man- 
ner in which this language would seem to des- 
cribe the past and the present state of the back- 
slider. 

The simple truth, however, is, that the verses 
before us, have no relation whatever to the state 
of the Inquirer : and it is a tincture of melan- 
choly which gives them an aspect not properly 
theirs. 

The Apostle is here addressing professing 
Christians : and he presents an example of the 
danger of departing from the truth as it is in 
Jesus; and of exchanging the high privileges of 
the faithful, for the temporary advantages of the 
world. A profane person is properly one who 
lightly esteems, or despises sacred things. Such 
was Esau. His birthright, which, according to 



LETTER Vli ]99 

the economy in which he lived, held peculiar re- 
ligious honours — not to add its pecuniary emolu- 
ment — he bartered for a brief present indulgence. 
No excuse could paliate this conduct : for it evi- 
dently implied a very slight value set upon the 
privilege. Now, of what was it he repented ? — 
of his gross sin in the sight of God ? Not at 
all. He regretted his folly : and sought place of 
repentance, in his father's mind ; or, in other 
words, he sought a reversal of his father's deci- 
sion respecting the blessing : and that not imme- 
diately ; but forty years after the transaction was 
over. And this unavailing regret was not only 
such from the late hour in which it occurred — du- 
ring the whole interval to which he had continued 
impenitent — and from the irrevocable investiture 
of the blessing in another, — but it was unavailing 
from its very nature. All his vehemency and 
tears arose from considerations completely sel- 
fish, and inconsistent with sincere penitence of 
heart. He sought nothing from his offended 
God : while, at the same time, he retained a feel- 
ing of rancour towards his brother. Besides — it 
was the pique of pride — the wounding of ambi- 
tion — under which he smarted. The object of 
his desire was nothing spiritual : it was, to have 



200 LETTER VII. 

that clause transferred to himself — " be Lord over 
thy brethren, and let thy mother's sons bow down 
to thee." Had he, before God, sought repen- 
tance in his own heart, and earnestly desired 
the special blessings of salvation, there was 
nothing to prevent his obtaining them. 

In all this you see there is no parallel with the 
case of the Awakened Sinner. The circumstan- 
ces, the object sought, the kind of repentance 
desired — as the Apostle applies them, — give an 
admonition to the members of the Visible Church, 
by a very plain inference ; but they present no 
discouragement to the Inquirer. And if they fur- 
nish any lesson to sinners in general, it is, indi- 
rectly, the hazard of delay, or, the great impor- 
tance of improving the present moment. 

Let me now say that any uneasiness you have 
entertained on this subject, should lead you to 
reflect on the necessity and duty of taking every 
passage of Scripture in connexion with its broad 
and general truths. The Word of God will 
illustrate, but never contradict, itself. A detach- 
ed sentence may fill the heart with terror, when 
it never vvas intended to do so. But carry it 
to the light of some other truth ; and you will 



LETTER VII. 



201 



see that there is nothing to deter, but every 
thing to encourage the returning sinner. 

You again adduce the language of Jehovah — 
" Ephraim is joined to idols, — let him alone"*— 
as an evidence that some may be without the in- 
closure of hope, notwithstanding any desire, on 
their part, to return to God. But surely, he who 
is "joined to his idols" — who is obstinately bent 
on pursuits and pleasures dishonourable to God, 
and inimical to spirituality, can have no sincere 
desire in this behalf. 

Moreover, if these words were designed to in- 
dicate to an idolatrous people, that their doom 
was now sealed, and that no more effort should 
be made for their good, the curse would have 
carried its own sign along with it — a cessation on 
the part of God to break in on their insensibility., 
But the Prophet continues to expostulate with 
pathos and earnestness — " Oh Israel, return unto 
the Lord thy God ; for thou hast fallen by thine 
iniquity. Take with you words, and return un- 
to the Lord : say unto him, take away all iniqui- 
ty, and receive us graciously."! 

All this pleading is certainly inconsistent with 
the idea of a state of abandoned hopelessness. 

• Hoseaiv: 17. t xiv : 1,2, 

26 



202 1ETTEK ViL 

It announces the.unretracted offer of pardon, on 
condition of repentance. 

The admonition in the quoted passage, then, 
was not intended to intimate that the doom of 
this people was sealed. Nor was it a prohibition 
to the Ministers of the Sanctuary from preaching 
to this rebellious race ; or they would have obeyed 
it. The whole history, and the connexion, of the 
text, plainly shew that the sentence was an order 
to Judah, to refrain from all unnecessary com- 
merce with idolatrous Ephraim : " Let them 
alone. Though Israel sin, yet let not Judah of- 
fend." It implied the danger arising from evil 
communication ; and, particularly, communica- 
tion with those guilty of so infectious a sin as that 
of idolatry. It was the application of a maxim 
of daily use. 

That God may, and sometimes does, leave 
men to a perverse temper, and a hardened mind, 
is a truth, which, however painful it may be, is 
too plain to be denied. But the Awakened Sin- 
ner is in a situation directly the reverse of this. 
His sense of danger is neither accidental nor m* 
gatory. The Holy Spirit has appealed to him : 
And that appeal has startled him. In doing 
this, it could hardly be the intention of the 



LETTER VII. 202 

Creator to remind him of his doom only to 
leave him to wretchedness. In a case of utter 
hopelessness, that deep slumber of all susceptibility, 
which is so portentous to the observer, would 
be unnoted in the mind of the subject himself, 
while it would prevent any discovery of his con- 
dition. 

And yet this doom does not consist in the in- 
fliction of any positive evil on the part of God ; 
nor may it be in the withdrawal of the means of 
grace. For if the lost soul could, as I have else- 
where said, ascribe his perdition exclusively to 
an absolute divine determination, his sufferings 
would be mitigated, if not removed. But the 
very reverse of this — the consciousness of his 
personal guilt — will be the means of promoting 
his endless wretchedness. 

The only proof that any one is in a hopeless 
condition, must consist in his perverse continu- 
ance in unbelief and impenitence. As long as 
he so remains, there is every reason for apprehen- 
sion ; and the more so, in proportion to the length 
of time, and the extent of his privileges. Should 
he die in this state, we have the assurance of his 
ruin. But the moment we have evidence of 
his awakening to a sense of sin, and repenting 



204 LETTER VII 

of it, our grounds of alarm are removed. And 
he may be satisfied that God is fully as willing 
to accept of him as of any sinner on earth. It 
is our duty to take warning from the fact that 
thousands die with a seared conscience, to whom 
in life, every opportunity was offered. But if it 
be our own earnest desire to escape such a doom 
as justice dispenses to them, and if we adopt the 
means, under God, of doing so, we may dismiss 
all fears of being included among their number: 
fully assured, as we should be, that the loss of 
the soul must be a fault of our own. 

Once more, My Dear Sir, let me beseech you 
to cease harassing yourself with imaginary diffi- 
culties. Say no more w T ith the sorrowing wo- 
men who were seeking their Lord — " who shall 
roll us away the stone ?" — The stone is already 
gone. No impediment is in our way to salva- 
tion, but such as we place there ourselves. — > 
The fountain of mercy is unlocked : and the 
path to it is as open and plain as infinite love 
can make it. 

When you take up the Holy Volume, see that 
you do not render it " a snare and a trap " Let 
no apparent inconsistency startle you. Remem- 
ber that you are not called on to reconcile its 



LETTER Vlf. 



C 2Q5 



declarations, but to believe them. Once admit- 
ted into your heart, they will reconcile them- 
selves. " Be not afraid, only believe," is the lan- 
guage of the blessed Redeemer himself. 
I am yours, #-c. 



201 



il ffl ffl 9P a ffi vaioii 

Perplexity in reading the word of God — Complaint of the 
want of personal application — Natural aversion to the 
Bible — Mistaken expectations — An impious practice — 
Failure arising from listlessness in reading — Want of 
consideration — Forgetting that God is the author — Look- 
ing for an extraneous something — How the Spirit imparts 
the right meaning — Duty of becoming familiar with the 
Plan of Salvation — Caution relative to reading other 
books — Concluding advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

One of your expressions merits particular no- 
tice : " Although I am confident that the Bible is 
the Word of God, and that it is the ordinary means, 
in his hands, of relieving the spiritual icants of his 
Creatures, yet it appears not of the least avail to 
one. It meets none of my difficulties. It presents 
no personal application to my ov:n mind. There 
is in it nothing that is suitable to my exigencies. 



208 LETTER VIII. 

1 have thought a thousand times, that I should re- 
joice to see a plain delineation of myself; some- 
thing in a tangible form, to fix and rivet my at- 
tention. It is of the reverse of all this I complain. 
Every thing appears confused and indefinite, as 
it regards my own situation. In some portions of 
this Book, I can discover beauties which my judge* 
ment approves ; and I can take some little interest 
in its Historical records. But although I task my- 
self, in hopes of some development, or some dis- 
covery not yet made, I shut it again and again, as 
much in the dark as ever" 

Sad complaint of a soul distressed with a sense 
of its loneliness, and sighing for an object suit- 
ed to its necessities ! And what a disappoint- 
ment does it indicate ! To how many murmurs 
does it give rise] How often does it create a 
wish that the Bible were not what it is ! — But 
where is the fault ? Certainly not in the book 
itself; but in the mind of the reader. And, in evi- 
dence of this, we might mention the different 
impressions which may be made on the same 
mind, at different times, and under different cir- 
cumstances. The Scriptures are not always the 
same to the Christian himself. In seasons of cold- 
ness their energy and interest are, in a great 



LETTER VIII. 209 

measure, lost. Conviction of their intrinsic value, 
and individual reference, will indeed continue. 
But it is conviction from past, not from present ex- 
perience. And even in the mind destitute of any 
spiritual taste, the effect left by a perusal of the 
sacred pages may, and does, vary, both in degree 
and character. The same may be asserted of 
any piece of intelligence, which shall be of equal 
value to ten persons, to whom it is communica- 
ted, and yet the effect shall not be precisely the 
same upon any two of them. 

It must be admitted as an universal truth, that 
the natural understanding can have no relish for 
the spiritualities of the Gospel. A man of this 
description would not only entertain some re- 
pugnance to its phraseology, or the singularity of 
its diction — a fault, if it be such, which arose 
from the state of the age in which our transla- 
tion was made, as well as from a subject without 
analogy — but he would regard it as something 
so mvstical in its character, and so different 
from his natural ideas of religion, as to produce 
an aversion which he may often find it difficult to 
repress. Habit and education may, in certain 
cases, and to a certain degree, qualify this re- 
pugnance. And a sense of duty, or a negative 

%7 



210 letter vm: 

kind of veneration for what is divine, might car* 
ry the effect somewhat further. Yet without an 
acquired taste for spiritual things, there can be 
none of those peaceful feelings which are the le- 
gitimate fruits of the Holy Word in the re- 
newed soul. 

But admitted as all this may be, on the part of 
the Inquirer, it furnishes no solution to his most 
pressing questions. * If he cannot enter with all 
that freedom into the comforts of the Gospel, so 
fully avowed by the growing Christian : if there 
be no delight for him in pondering the testimo- 
nies of God — why does he not find something 
suited to his own case, in a Revelation expressly 
intended to be universal — something adapted to re- 
lieve an anxiety its own truths have occasioned ?' 
Perhaps the following remarks may furnish a par- 
tial answer to his question : The convicted sinner 
is usually disposed, on his first alarm, to resort 
to the Bible for light and relief; and he is right 
in doing so. But he is not unapt to open its 
pages with expectations which can never be jus- 
tified by success. He looks directly for some 
instantaneous operation upon his mind, percepti- 
ble in itself and miraculous in its nature. He has 



LETTER VUX 21 1 

perhaps, heard of the wonderful influence thus 
produced upon others, and readily anticipates the 
same in his own behalf. Something is immedi- 
ately to occur worthy of the power of the Divine 
Word. Some energetic passage is to carry its 
force, at once, to the heart, with light and life. 
He reads. — No such result ensues. — And the 
disappointment changes the attitude of his 
thoughts, and the nature of the impressions. 

Now the cause of this disappointment is ob- 
vious. His mind had been occupied with fanci- 
ful expectations, and the proper bearing of the 
truths which he read, was suffered to escape it. 
A miraculous energy was anticipated from lan- 
guage, without its reaching him by the ordinary 
channel of reflection and comparison. This is a 
perversion of the design of the Scriptures. And 
it was no wonder it was fruitless of all benefit 
to the heart or to the mind. Whatever extraor- 
dinary events of this kind may have occurred in 
the lives of others — and not a few of them have 
been the offspring of a heated imagination — they 
should never form the object of our own ex- 
pectations. The dealings of the Holy Spirit are 
not likely to be inconsistent with what is suited 
to man as an intelligent and intellectual creature. 



212 LETTER VIII. 

Depend upon it, any expectation of miraculous 
influence, as the ground of consolation, or as the 
rule of practice, is indicative of some radical de- 
fect. Here the hope is not placed upon any 
thing in the Word itself, but, virtually, on the ex- 
pected influence, whatever it may be. This is a 
regard to neither reason nor revelation ; but it 
may be the effect of that superstition to which a 
weak mind is ever prone ; and from which an 
intellect of even greater strength is not always 
exempted. And if there be any thing, above all 
others, most adapted to promote an unhallowed 
enthusiasm, it is this. 

I have known others who looked for no mi- 
raculous effect on their feeling, and yet who 
stretched their expectations to a point not less 
far : Who, in the midst of distressing fears, re- 
solved to dismiss their apprehensions, or to 
change them into despair, by an appeal to which 
they were confident of an answer : and, for 
this purpose, resolved, that on opening the Bible 
the first passage should be taken as the answer 
from God respecting their future fate. And an 
instance is now presented to my own recollec- 
tion, of this baneful trifling with the hidden 
things of God : 



LETTER VIIT 



213 



It was that of a female who had suffered a mor- 
bidness of feeling to weaken both her sense of 
duty and her judgement. In an unhappy mo- 
ment she had resolved to take the first verse 
whieh met her eye as her answer from Heaven. 
The experiment failed ; for the verse was a por- 
tion of genealogy. The next trial presented a 
sentence quite as incapable of leading to any de- 
cision. The third produced a word of reproof 
to the impenitent sinner. This was deemed con- 
clusive. The former failures were considered a 
reluctance on the part of her Maker to disclose 
her fate ; and this idea strengthened the convic- 
tion that a final answer had been given her. — 
The shock which succeeded this supposed disco- 
very was followed by a gradual and growing in- 
difference to the concerns of her soul. Happily, 
some years after, these serious impressions re- 
turned ; and the subject of them is now, we 
have reason to believe, an eminent Christian. 
And to this day, she does not cease to lament the 
presumption which kept her back so long from 
the Redeemer ; nor does she ever name the trans^ 
ition without emotion, in recollecting the danger 
to which it exposed her. 



214 LETTER VIII. 

The impiety and absurdity of such a practice 
will plainly appear, when we recollect how dia- 
metrically it is opposed to the prescribed will of 
God, to whom alone secret things belong. We 
have no right to seek for supernatural evidence 
of our condition. This is to be ascertained only 
by the heart and the life. And any satisfaction 
which can ever be obtained in this forbidden 
way, will usually be unaccompanied with a sin- 
gle mark of grace. The heart will continue un- 
affected ; and the disposition and temper will un- 
dergo no favourable change. All the gratitude 
which may be supposed to arise in the bosom, is 
the product of a selfish feeling ; and will be dis- 
connected with a love of the true character of 
God. The proper source of our comfort should 
be found in the fitness of the Word to our wants, 
and not in the particular state of our minds. 

A third reason why the Bible continues a seal- 
ed book in the hands of many, is to be found 
in the listlessness with which they turn over its 
pages. We should imagine that one who is 
deeply impressed with a sense of his danger, 
would exert all his powers to obtain the mean- 
ing of what he believes to be the will of his God. 
Such, however, is not the fact. The very un» 



LETTER VIII, 21 5 

easiness or distress which drove him to seek a 
remedy in the Scriptures, frequently diverts his 
attention from them. His thoughts are confused. 
Or, if they are concentrated on any point, it is 
that of his particular situation. It is thus he 
reads chapter after chapter, hardly knowing the 
nature of the subject before him : and when the 
task is, for a season, relinquished, not a trace is 
left in the memory. There is a strong tempta- 
tion to such abstraction of mind ; not only when 
we resort to the Word of God for relief under 
temporal affliction — when the subject of our sor- 
row usurps the place in our reflections which the 
remedy should take — but even when apprehen- 
sions of danger to our souls have induced us to 
apply to the Bible. Against this evil I would se- 
riously caution you. The consequences which re- 
sult at the time are not all that ensue : This in- 
attention, repeated, easily grows into a habit ; 
and thus, without being sensible of it, the In- 
quirer nullifies one of the very means of grace. 
Have you never detected yourself in this default ? 
Have you not sometimes closed this life-giving 
volume, without being able to recollect a single 
perfect idea which it might have conveyed to 
your understanding? 



21 6 LETTER VIII. 

Another reason why all expectation from the 
Sacred Record fails the Inquirer, consists in the 
impatience often attendant on his situation ; es- 
pecially where the natural temperament is ardent 
and sanguine. I refer to the practice of turn- 
ing eagerly and hastily from one passage to 
another, or from one part of the volume to 
another, without waiting lo canvass the mean- 
ing of either. I do not mean here, as in a for- 
mer case, that the object looked for is something 
to produce a sudden and miraculous effect. The 
reader, in this instance, is rather in pursuit of 
something descriptive of his present peculiar 
feelings ; and yet does not wait long enough to 
ponder on any thing, to ascertain its meetness to 
his condition. He may not, as in the case first 
mentioned, expect a wonder to be wrought by 
an expression found at random, and made in- 
strumental of comfort to him, foreign from its ori- 
ginal design, or not, as maybe: but he expects 
that whatever is adapted to the condition of his 
mind, will appear so at a glance. 

That some parts of the Bible are not fitted to 
meet his cares is very certain ; for relief to the 
mourner, or instruction to the convicted, was but 
one of the great ends for which it was intended 



LETTER VIII 



217 



by its divine Author. But it is equally certain 
that no part can effect the purpose desired, ordi- 
narily, without serious thought on the side of the 
reader. Surely the man who is credibly inform- 
ed that a certain document contains a clause 
which materially affects his own interest, would 
weigh well each clause as he reads it. His at- 
tention would be arrested by every part which is 
not obviously distinct from his own concerns. 
How much rather should the Awakened Sinner 
examine the purport of the sacred pages, with 
reflection and care ! 

Others, again, miss their aim by forgetting the 
nature and character of the book, even while 
engaged in its perusal. This may be of serious 
consequence ; and must necessarily retard the 
end they have in view. 

Never cease to remember, My Dear Sir, that 
the instruction you are receiving as you pore over 
the Bible, is directly from God himself: — from 
him who is able to make it, through his blessing, 
effectual to your salvation* It is a solemn thought, 
which should occur to every reader — that Jeho- 
vah speaks. And the more deeply we can im- 
press this upon our minds, while we hold the 
Volume before us, the more confident may we 

28 

wm 



218 LETTER VIII. 

i 

be of success in our inquiry. Indeed it is from 
a sense of this, that we should hope to derive the 
virtues of the Divine Word. An infidel of my 
acquaintance, in looking over the pages of the 
Bible attempted to keep in mind the supposition 
that the Creator was its author, merelv with a 
design to discover the effect it might produce on 
his understanding. Now as it is sometimes pos- 
sible for a lively fancy to produce, for a moment, 
the effects of truth itself, it was so here. Under 
the idea of divine authority, this reader saw some- 
thing admirably adapted to the relation which 
man, as a dependant creature, sustains towards 
his Creator. Conviction of his own danger, and, 
subsequently, the knowledge of Jesus Christ, suc- 
ceeded what was intended to have been at first, 
an experiment on the imagination. 

You, My Dear Friend, need no proof that the 
Bible is of Divine authority. And yet it is very 
possible for you to keep this essential truth too 
far from your sight, and thus to lose the benefits 
it is adapted to convey. 

One more error worthy of notice, is that of 
looking for a meaning in the Word of God which 
it was never designed to give : an expectation of 
a hidden something, to be brought to light by the 



LETTER VIII. 219 

Holy Spirit, through the medium of the Divine 
language : or, in other words, of a certain addi- 
tional quality to be communicated, by that pow- 
erful agent, to what the Inquirer is reading. — 
And I have sometimes known him to wait for 
this without taking any pains, on his own part, 
to comprehend what he was perusing. An er- 
roneous apprehension of this kind may be an ef- 
fectual check to his success. " The Office of the 
Holy Spirit," to use the words of another, " is 
not to make known to us any truths which are 
not already contained in the Bible ; but to make 
clear to our understandings the truths which are 
contained in it. He opens our understandings 
to understand the Scriptures. The Word of 
God is the instrument by which the Spirit work- 
eth. He does not tell us any thing that is out of 
the record ; but all that is within it he sends 
home with clearness and effect upon the mind. 
He does not make us wise above that which is 
written, but he makes us wise up to that which 
is written. When a telescope is directed to some 
distant landscape, it enables us to see what we 
could not otherwise have seen ; but it does not 
enable us to see any thing which has not a real 
existence in the prospect before us." 



220 LETTER VIII. 

As to the question, ' whether in the act of 
teaching us the meaning of the Scriptures, the 
Spirit imparts the necessary information by a 
direct communication to our minds,' — let me an- 
swer you in the language of an elegant writer of 
the present day : " A man that is born blind, 
if placed in the centre of the most attractive 
scenery that nature ever exhibited, can see no 
objects. There are the objects; there is also 
the medium of vision ; if it should please the 
Almighty to open his eyes, he will first discern 
them indistinctly, afterwards more clearly ; and 
when more accustomed to the exercise of his 
newly acquired faculty of sight, he will be able 
to trace their forms, to distinguish their colours, 
and to make a correct calculation of their relative 
distances. He will, when his eyes are open, see 
no object which did not exist when he was blind ; 
and when he does see them, it will be through 
the medium of his own eye, though for the capa- 
city of vision he is indebted to a supernatural 
cause. So in reference to the Spirit of God. He 
gives to us the power of spiritual discernment, 
but that power is exerted through the medium of 
our own judgement."* The Spirit opened the eyes 

* Spirit and Manners of the Age. 



LETTER Vln. 



221 



of the Apostles to see clearly the meaning of their 
ascended Master's instructions ; many of which 
they had forgotten ; and of none of which they 
had possessed a right understanding before. It 
is in the same manner he operates in the present 
day. And until he do so, the Gospel will be, as 
it respects our main object, a dead letter to the 
most gifted of us. 

Such are some of the causes of an utter fail- 
ure, in many instances, in the attempt to find re- 
lief in the Word of God : And where either 
of these exist, such a failure should as certainly 
be expected as any effect is expected from its 
cause. It is hence that we someiimes hear the 
Awakened Sinner declaring that his difficulties, 
instead of being removed, are multiplied ; his 
anxiety, instead of being gratified in its demands, 
is baffled. This is harassing in the extreme. — 
But he should not have forgotten that, while the 
illumination of the Holy Spirit is necessary to a 
saving understanding of the Scriptures, the rea- 
der is bound to use all the means of acquiring 
that light ; and to avoid every thing that could 
possibly impede it. 

When 1 say that it is the Inquirer's duty to 
use all means of acquiring spiritual light, I refer 



222 LETTER VIII 

not only to the exercise of prayer, which should 
accompany all his own exertions, but to the duty 
of making himself conversant with the plan of 
salvation. That God may, and sometimes does 
bless his Holy Word, without clear and discrimi- 
nating views on the subject, — especially where 
there is no opportunity of acquiring them — is 
very certain. But, for the most part, it will be 
found that the Divine assistance is furnished in 
proportion to our own active and sincere de- 
sires ; and to our efforts to obtain distinct appre- 
hensions of the truth as it is in Christ. Where 
these are wanting, the hope of acceptance and 
pardon, — even though obtained — with all the 
comfort which attends it, is not only liable to 
fluctuations, but is even uncertain in its tenure. 
Trifling changes in outward circumstances, or in 
the animal spirits, may bring back a desponden- 
cy which the prayer of faith had dissipated, un- 
less the object of that faith be kept before the 
mind ; an end which we can always accomplish 
the more readily as our views are more intelli- 
gent : — It was a good remark of an eminent 
Christian on his death-bed, that the calm and 
quiet of mind which he had so much enjoyed 
during life, arose, " not so much from a greater 



LETTER VIU. 



223 



measure of grace than other Christians had, or 
from an immediate witnessing of the Spirit ; but 
because he had a more clear understanding of 
the covenant of grace than many others ; having 
studied and preached it so many years."* 

During a period of anxiety, when the Word 
of God seems to afford no consolation to the In- 
quirer, there is a strong temptation to rove 
abroad in search of something to meet difficul- 
ties and feelings, which are not then met by the 
Sacred Volume. And it is indeed true that 
many excellent works of pious Divines may as- 
sist him in part of his perplexities. But I have 
sometimes had reason to fear that an undue de- 
pendence on these had impeded the progress of 
the reader. I have said an ' undue dependence f 
for there is always some hazard of this, when the 
language of Holy Writ has discouraged his ef- 
forts to understand its meaning. Guard against 
this temptation. Remember that all, in these 
works, which could be of value in your own 
case, is derived from the Bible itself. And what- 
ever blessing may rest upon a prayerful perusal 
of them, is from the fact that they are a species 
of ministration of the Word. This is the foun- 

"Brook's Cabmet, p. 113. 



^24 LETTER VIII. 

tain-head : from which all else are but so many 
streams, liable to a greater or less degree of im- 
purity, as they pass through distant grounds. 

And now, my friend, before 1 close this letter, 
J cannot forbear expressing a fear that the re- 
marks I have made may lead to an error in prac- 
tice ; and thus, by detaining you from the great 
end in view, defeat my own purpose. Let me 
beseech you, then, not to wait for any given de- 
gree of knowledge before you discharge the pri- 
mary duty of making an unreserved surrender 
of yourself to Christ. Clear and full perceptions 
of divine truth are indeed necessary to evangeli- 
cal and substantial peace. But you know enough 
to understand that God demands your whole 
heart at once. While you withhold this, all else 
is a fruitless form. Renounce, then, yourself, and 
all that is of human expectation : and while you 
do so, be it your prayer — " enlighten thou mine 
eyes to behold the wonderful things contained in 

thy Law !" 

Very truly, 

Yours, &c. 



225 



The folly of expending time in attempting to reconcile dif- 
ficult passages — The duty of diligence in examining the 
proper application of the Truth — The question, "what part 
of the Bible shall I read ?" — Quotations — Application of 
a Parable — A personal appeal to Christ directed in Scrip- 
ture — Conclusion. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

In order to obtain a right understanding of 
the Word of God, it is by no means necessary 
that you should engage your mind in endeavour- 
ing to elucidate its difficult passages, or to recon- 
cile its apparent contradictions. This were an 
employment very distinct from your present pur- 
pose ; and not unlikely to throw hindrances in your 
way. The mind of that man has a strong bias to 
skepticism, who insists on having every difficulty 
satisfactorily explained, before he will apply the 
sacred truths to himself. There is very little sin- 

2? 



226 LETTER IX. 

cerity in bis desires for spiritual peace, and no very 
deep sense of either his guilt or his danger. Thou- 
sands are partakers of the Heavenly blessing, who 
are far from being versed in these matters, and have 
very little curiosity about them. The convinced sin- 
ner has not time for such an occupation ; and if 
he had, its influence is unsalutarv. He whose 
peace is made with his God, might indeed em- 
ploy a portion of his leisure in such a pursuit ; 
but even then, the engagement should be second- 
ary to the study of practical and spiritual truths, 
or the plan of salvation, as unfolded in the Gos- 
pel. But until that great end is completed, it is 
a wide departure from the line of duty to exer- 
cise our diligence in any thing not closely con- 
nected with matters of the heart. And you know 
that it is very possible to engross our attention 
with f portions of the Bible which may have no ten- 
dency to furnish spiritual light, and which can in 
no way illustrate the important question before 
us. True conviction of sin, and evangelical re- 
pentance, arise from another quarter. And I 
should entertain as much hope, — and indeed 
more,— *in the attempt to convince an infidel by 
the simplest truths of the Gospel, than by the 
ftest qbaia of reasoning, to establish its authentic 



LETTER IX. fffl) 

city : for even the highest success in such an ef- 
fort may bring him very little nearer to its sav- 
ing doctrines. I am equally sure, too, that the 
most complete success of the Inquirer, in his at- 
tempt to reconcile the difficult passages of the 
Bible — whatever self-complacency or pleasure 
may follow — will end in little or no moral good 
upon his mind In the meanwhile, this diver- 
sion of his thoughts from the grand object of in- 
quiry, is attended with a chilling and deleterious 
influence on his afiftctions : And thus is the Sa- 
cred Book rendered an instrument, not of deep- 
ening his impressions, but of erasing them al- 
together. 

The following direction may be of some im- 
portance : — Whenever, in the course of reading 
a practical or spiritual part of the Bible, you 
discover any thing which appears to convey an 
imperfect meaning, or presents no defined idea to 
your mind, ponder it well. Do not suffer it to 
escape your recollection, without extracting some- 
thing from it. Ntver discard, as too abstruse, 
what on a little reflection may appear rich in 
meaning. It is attention to such a rule as this, 
which comprises a profitable reading of the Word. 
And a single sentence made the subject of deep 



228 LETTER IX. 

thought, and rendered part of the materials of 
prayer, is worth whole chapters of that more 
general attention, which we commonly give to 
other books. 

All opposition, or repugnance, which the In- 
quirer may feel to the language or ideas of Scrip- 
ture, should constrain him to greater importunity 
in prayer, while it proves, more fully, his need 
of divine assistance. Depend upon it, there is 
nothing in the whole progress of the Awakened 
Sinner's experience, which is not adapted, if he 
fairly . consider it, to teach him the evils of his 
unrenewed state, and the duty of his entire de- 
pendence on God. Instead, then, of dishearten- 
ing him in his pursuit, all the difficulties he may 
find, ought, by demonstrating to him the neces^ 
sity of a radical change, to conduct him to that 
acceptable frame of mind, with which he can- 
not approach a throne of grace in vain : — But of 
this, more hereafter. 

The question which you, ask — " what part of 
the Sacred Volume do you recommend to my parti- 
cular attention ?" is one which is very often 
proposed ; and occurs very naturally to the mind 
of an Inquirer who is eager to reach some de- 
fined point, on which he desires to reflect with 



LETTER IX, 229 

fixedness of thought. But it is a question not 
easily answered. Nor am 1 by any means sure 
that a particular direction is always advisable. 
The great variety of cases which are presented 
by the tempers and circumstances of different 
persons, would render any minute direction in- 
expedient. The best general advice which could 
be given, would perhaps, be, to become familiar 
with those portions which describe the sinfulness 
of our nature — The character of the Being with 
whom we have to do — and the way of pardon 
and reconciliation. Convinced as the Inquirer 
may be of his depravity or sin, he cannot be too 
sensible of it, as the ground of his condemna- 
tion. A just knowledge of the Divine charac- 
ter will deepen this impression, and give it a de- 
finite form. While, at the same time, a distinct 
comprehension of the way of salvation, as it is 
revealed in the Cross, is indispensable to produce 
thai humble and penitent frame of mind, with- 
out which there can be no true submission, and 
until we have attained which, all our cares will 
be unavailing. 

In regard to the natural *tate of man, let me 
request you to examine, and apply, with care, 



230 IETTEK IX. 

the fallowing passages, in connexion with those 
which are parallel. — It is of little consequence 
that I have not disposed them in order ; but it is 
of vast importance that here, and in all other in- 
stances of examining divine truth, you lay aside 
every pre-conceived notion of your own ; and ex- 
ercise all the candour which a subject of eternal 
life and death demands, at your hands. 

" The imagination of man's heart is evil from 
" his youth. Who can bring a clean thing out 
" of an unclean ? not one. What is man that 
$< he should be clean ? And he which is born of 
V a woman that he should be righteous ? The 
" Lord looked down from Heaven upon the chil- 
"• dren of men, to see if there were any that did 
M- understand and seek God. They are all gone 
** aside, they are altogether become filthy ; there 
" is none that doeth good, no, not one. Corrupt 
" are they, and have done abominable iniquity* 
"This is an evil among all things that are done 
" under the sun, that there is one event unto all : 
"yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of 
" evil, and madness is in their heart while they 
" live, and after that they goto the dead. Be- 
" hold I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did 
" my mother conceive me. For there is not a 



LETTER IX. 2S1 

"just man upon earth, that doetli good and sin- 
11 ncth not. Because sentence against an evil 
" work is not executed speedily, therefore the 
,c heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to 
" do evil. Wherefore as by one man sin entered 
" into the world, and death by sin, and so death 
" passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. 
" Among whom also we all had our conversation 
41 in times past, in the lust of our flesh, fulfilling 
41 the desires of the flesh and of the mind ; and 
" were by nature the children of wrath even a6 
" others. The whole world lieth in wickedness. 
" The world hateth me, because I testify of it 
41 that the works of it are evil. The carnal mind 
11 is enmity against God ; for it is not subject to 
" the law of God, neither indeed can be. The 
u natural man receiveth not the things of the 
" Spirit of God : for they are foolishness unto 
" him : neither can he know them, because they 
■f are spiritually discerned."* 

On the fullness of pardon through the Redeem- 
cr, examine the following : " He was wounded 
" for our transgressions, he was bruised for our 

* Gen. viii; 21. Job, xiv: 4. rv: 14—16. Ps. xiv: 1— 3. liii. 
1—3. Eecles. ix: 3. Ps. li: 5. Eccles. vii : 20. viii: 11. Rom 
i:21 — 23— 27— 29. v: 8, 10, 12. Eph, ii : 1—3. I John, v; It 
John, vii; 7. Ro«. viii; 7. I Coria. ii; 14, Eph.i?: 17,10. 



232 LETTER IX. 

" iniquities : the chastisement of our peace was 
" upon him ; and with his stripes we are healed. 
" All we like sheep, have gone astray : we have 
" turned every one to his own way ; and the 
" Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. 
" In that day there shall be a fountain opened 
" to the house of David, and to the inhabitants 
" of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness. Be 
" it known unto you, therefore, men and breth- 
" ren, that through this man is preached unto 
" you the forgiveness of sins. In whom we 
" have redemption through his blood, the for- 
" giveness of sins, according to the riches of 
" his grace, who gave himself for our sins, 
" that he might deliver us from this present evil 
" world, according to the will of God and our 
" Father. This is a faithful saying, and worthy 
" of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into 
" the world to save sinners. For I delivered unto 
" you, first of all, that which I also received, how 
" that Christ died for our sins according to the 
" Scriptures. So Christ was once offered to 
4( bear the sins of many ; and unto them that 
" look for him shall he appear the second time. 
" For, by one offering, he hath perfected forever 
" them that are sanctified. If we confess our sins, 



LETTER IX. 233 

" he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and 
" to cleanse us from all unrighteousness : And ye 
" know that he was manifested to take away our 
11 sins. Who his own self bare our sins in his 
" own body on the tree, that we, being dead to 
" sins should live unto righteousness."* 

And yet that all this may be of no avail to 
us without divine aid, is fully affirmed : " Man's 
" goings are of the Lord ; how can a man then 
" understand his own way. Can the Ethiopian 
" change his skin or the Leopard his spots ? then 
" may ye also do good that are accustomed to 
" do evil. All things are delivered unto me of 
" my Father: and no man knoweth the Son but the 
" Father ; neither knoweth any man the Father 
" save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will 
11 reveal him. A man can receive nothing except it 
" be given him from Heaven. No man can come 
" unto me except the Father, which hath sent me, 
" draw him. Not that we are sufficient of our- 
" selves to think any thing as of ourselves ; but our 
" sufficiency is of God. For by grace are ye 
" saved through faith, and that not of yourselves ; 
" it is the gift of God.f 

* Is. liii : 5, 6. Zech. xiii: 1. Acts, xiii: 38. Epb. i : 7. Gal. i: 
4. I Tim. i: 15. I Corin. xv. 3. Heb. i: 3. ix : 28 x: 14: I 
John, i : 7—9. iii: 6. I Pet. ii : 24. 

t Prov. xx: 24. Jer. xiii : 23. Math, xi : 27. John, iii: 27. vi, 
44, 61. John, xv : 4, 5. viii. 43. U Cor. iii : 6. Eph. ii : 9. 

30 



234 LETTER 1% 

But that God willeth the salvation of the sin- 
ner, and tendereth his own blessing to the sincere 
penitent, is obvious from the following : u Turn 
" ye at my reproof; behold 1 will pour out my 
" spirit upon you, I will make known my words 
" unto you I have not spoken in secret, in a 
" dark place of the earth : I said not unto the 
" seed of Jacob, seek ye me in vain. Look un- 
" to me and be ye saved, all the ends of the 
" earth ; for 1 am God, and there is none else. 
" Incline your ear and come unto me ; hear and 
" your soul shall live. Seek ye the Lord while 
" he may be found, call ye upon him while he 
" is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and 
" the unrighteous man his thoughts ; and let him 
" return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy 
" upon him : and to our God, for he will abun- 
" dantly pardon. As I live, saith the Lord, I 
" have no pleasure in the death of the wicked ; 
" but that the wicked turn from his way and live, 
" turn ye, turn ye, from your evil ways ; for why 
" will ye die ? For I have no pleasure in the 
" death of him that dieth, saith the Lord God. 
" Wherefore turn yourselves, and live ye. Oh 
" Israel thou hast destroyed thyself, but in me is 



LETTER TX 



235 



11 thy help. Turn ye to the strong hold, ye 
" prisoners of hope : even today do I declare 
¥ that I will render double unto thee. Blessed 
" are they which do hunger and thirst after right- 
" cousness, for they shall be filled. I am not 
" come to call the righteous, but sinners, to re- 
" pentance. Coinc unto me all ye that labour 
" and are heavy laden and I will give you rest. 
" Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; 
" for 1 am meek and lowly in heart : and ye shall 
u find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, 
" and my burden is light For the Son of Man 
'" is come to seek and to save that which was 
" lost. If any man thirst, let him come unto 
11 me and drink. For this is good and accepta- 
" ble in the sight of God our Saviour, who will 
k< have all men to be saved, and to come unto 
" the knowledge of the truth. Behold I stand at 
" the door and knock : If any man hear my 
" voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, 
r* and will sup with him, and he with me. I will 
" give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the 
" water of life freely. And the Spirit and the Bride 
" say, come, and let him that heareth say, come, 
" and let him that is athirst, come : and whoso- 



236 LETTER IX. 

" ever will, let him take the water of life 
" freely. 5 '* 

That God charges their failure upon sinner's 
themselves, is the current testimony of Scripture : 
' Repent and turn yourselves from all your 
4 transgressions ; so iniquity shall not be your 
' ruin. Cast away from }-ou all your transgres- 
sions, whereby ye have transgressed, and make 
8 you a new heart and a new spirit : for why will 
' ye die ? And he sent forth his servants to call 
' them that were bidden to the wedding : and 
1 they would not come. And this is the condem- 
8 nation, that light is come into the world, and 
* men loved darkness rather than light, because 
', their deeds were evil f 

To all this, and the parallel passages, let me 
add the suggestion, that it would be well to study, 
attentively, each of the particulars in the Para- 
ble of the Prodigal Son : 1 have already had 
occasion to advert to this, by way of illustra- 
tion. But it furnishes so rich and profitable a 
subject for serious thought — such prominent 

* Prov. i: 23. Is. xlv : 19, 22. Iv : 1—3, 6, 7. Ez. xxxhi : 11, 

xviii - 32. Hos. xiii: 9. Zech, ix : 12. Math, v: 6. ix : 12, 13. 

xi : 28, 30. Luke, xix : 10. John, vii : 37, 38. I Tim. i : 16. ii : 
3,4. Rev. iii. 18, 20. xxi : 6. xxii:17. 

t Ezekiel, xviii : 30, 31. Matth. xxii : 3. xxiii : 37. John, iii : 19. 
*sii : 45, 46c 



LETTER IX. 237 

points of self examination, — and so fine an 
insight into the relative altitudes of the peni- 
tent and his God, that 1 cannot omit recommend- 
ing it to your particular notice : 

The subject of the story was a wanderer far from 
his Father. He was destitute of every thing that 
could satisfy the cravings of an immortal spirit. 
What a lively description of the natural man! 
His efforts to obtain food were vain. And how 
fruitless are the best devices to satisfy the long- 
ings of the soul ! " No man gave unto him." 
Who can relieve him ? All trust in an arm of 
flesh must end in disappointment. Neither his 
own works, nor sympathy, nor pity, is found to 
avail him. u He came to himself" What a dis- 
covery he made of his forlorn condition ! What 
a sensation of solitariness and abandonment, is 
that which now occupies the bosom of the de- 
pendent creature ! He is alone. And help and 
hope are far from him. There is not within the 
compass of language a more emphatic sentence 
than this — ■* He came to himself" What a host 
of reflections does it bring to the mind ! The 
past, the present, and even the future — how they 
unite in carrying their gatherings of sorrow to- 
gether ! And w hat a flood of light do they pour 



238 tETTER IX. 

into the dark chambers of that self to which he 
came ! Here is reason, most abundant, for all 
that loathing of his condition which ensues in 
the mind of the sinner, under conviction of sin. 
And then the sense of shame in remaining from 
his father's house — his personal ingratitude — his 
abuse of mercies — his base prostitution of the 
means of grace — how admirably are all these 
reflections adapted to sink him in the dust ! It is 
in this state of distress that he recalls to mind 
the ability of his neglected parent to relieve him; — 
and he sees the fitness of the cheering invitations 
of the Gospel to his own condition. Instead of 
being exalted by the thought that all may yet 
be well with him, or elated in dwelling on the 
tendered kindness of his parent, the very thought 
of parental favour sinks him lower — the legiti- 
mate effect, on a generous mind, of kindness 
from the injured party. And in this humility he 
would be fed as a servant — he would take the 
lowest condition — he aspires to nothing of self- 
exaltation. An active resolution succeeds these 
reflections — " I will arise, and go to my Father" 
He does not lie still and bemoan his condition. 
He does not wait for future facilities. A sense of 
starvation will not permit the sufferer to speculate 



LETTER IX. 239 

on frivolous matters. Nor does he inquire into 
any of the details which are unessential to his pur- 
pose. " He arose." " A great tcay off" he was 
seen — met — greeted — and embraced. There is 
something affecting, too, in the simple statement 
of the interview. To the humble, and heart-felt 
confession of the Son, the Father gives no other 
answer than that of an order to clothe the tat- 
tered youth with a garment of honor — and to 
prepare a festival of rejoicing for his famishing 
child. And then how the feelings of the parties 
act on each other ! The sense of shame and 
guilt, and the humility of the Son, awaken the 
piety of a compassionate parent : and the tender- 
ness of the Father increases the self-condemna- 
tion of his offspring. Was ever description more 
true to nature ? 

One consideration we should never forget ; for 
a recollection of it will prevent that confusion re- 
specting the use of the promises, which is so very 
general: I mean that every promise, or invitation, is 
given through the Saviour: not merely that all sal- 
vation is the purchase of his blood, but that in 
the view of the promises themselves our eye is to 
be directed to him; and our application to be made 
personally to himself His own language is— 



240 LETTER IX. 



a 



come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy 
laden, and 1 will give you rest." " Him that 
Cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." 

After all, My Dear Sir, it is in comparing the 
words of Scripture with our own condition, that 
we use the proper means of rendering it of 
avail to ourselves. It is in the unison of the 
Divine language with our own state of mind, that 
any positive effect is produced upon us. As a 
general rule, therefore, the proper method of stu- 
dying the Word of God implies a self-examina- 
tion, at the same time : without which, what- 
ever the Holy Spirit is able to effect, indepen* 
dent of direct means, we ought not to look tor 
benefit to ourselves. 

And, now, while I commend you to the sood 
Word of God, and to a prayerful examination 
of its suitableness to your own case, may it 
indeed dwell in you richly in all wisdom. May 
its hallowed truths be carried home, with pow- 
er to your heart, and bring to light within you, 
the day spring from on high I 
Yours very truly, 



241 



On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel — A com- 
plaint of the Inquirer — One of the marks of right de- 
sires — A misinterpretation of Romans, ix. 3 — Right de- 
sires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of an 
awakened sinner — -Reformation of life connected with 
sincerity — And the spirit of forgiveness on our own part- 
Right desires not fitful — Trials — Advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

There is no inconsistency in saying that the 
sinner is directed to come to Christ without de- 
lay, and yet that if his desires be of an unsuita- 
ble character, all application will be vain. The 
invitations of the Gospel extend to all, whether 
they are accepted or not. And the command 
unto all men is, to repent, and to close with the 
terms of salvation. Even he whose care and 
labour are expended in search of earthly happi- 
ness, is not excluded from that general invitation. 
But then the tender of pardon and grace, as its lan- 

31 



24^ LETTER X. 

guage always clearly implies, requires the relin- 
quishment of one pursuit, and the sincere engage- 
ment in another. It declares the inadequacy of 
worldly pleasures to the demands of the soul ; 
and proposes a higher source of happiness. Now 
the only question is, whether the object held out 
by the Gospel meet the consent and wish of the 
sinner. If it do so, no impediment, unless it be 
one of error in views, can remain in the way. 

This is the sum of the whole matter before us. 
It is spiritual life and peace which are offered. 
And if they be acceptable to the sinner, why 
then all is well. But where the taste and affec- 
tions cling to the world — or where an attempt is 
made to compromise between God and Mam- 
mon, — the object desired is not the peace of the 
.Redeemer, or the enjoyment of spiritual life, but 
something of a sensual nature. 

Such was the instance of the Young Man in 
the Gospel. He had heard of the tender of sal- 
vation through Jesus Christ, and he came eager- 
ly to inquire, " what shall 1 do ?" From child- 
hood he had paid deference to the moral law ; 
and the command to an external obedience here 
seemed no way inconsistent with a spirit of world- 
liness. But when he ascertained that the means 



LETTER X 245 

of indulging in such a spirit were to be relin- 
quished on the very entrance into a heavenly 
life, he sorrowed at the sight of the unwelcome 
alternative, and went away more hopeless than 
he came. He certainly desired salvation. But 
his heart was set upon the world. Communion 
with God or the spiritual pleasures of the Chris- 
tian were not " in all his thoughts." The sacri- 
fice which he was required to make would have 
been of no moment to one whose soul panted 
for the enjoyment of a holy intercourse with 
God ; for a common desire in behalf of the two 
things is contradictory in its nature. It is plain, 
then, that he understood nothing of the charac- 
ter of the object about which he was inquiring. 
Eternal life must begin with spiritual dispositions; 
and for these he had no wish. 

Now let me apply this case : the man who seeks 
for salvation may have an eye only to the future 
blessedness of the Christian : if so, he does not 
distinctly see what it is he professes to be seeking ; 
or else he would discover within himself a re- 
pugnance to the very boon he solicits. He may 
be willing, on deliberation, to sacrifice his pro- 
perty rather than lose his soul ; and he would 
certainly be so to save his life. But the plea- 



244 LETTER X. 

sures of divine grace are not attractive to his 
moral appetite. Nor has he any present sincere 
wish that they should be so. 

There is not a more common complaint on the 
part of a certain class of awakened sinners, than 
the following : " My failure, after all my efforts to 
obtain peace with Christ, leads me to fear that my 
desires are, in some respects, spurious — wrong in 
their character, — and therefore inconsistent with 
the will of God" And in answer to this, 1 have 
more than once known a still greater confusion 
created by metaphysical distinctions relative to 
the operations of the will; or by directions which 
occupy the attention with needless subleties. Er- 
roneous or unacceptable desires are only inclina- 
tions towards something else than the grace of 
God. And such is, more or less, the substance 
of all our mistakes on this subject. 

A successful desire will be attended with a wil- 
lingness to relinquish all things, in order to attain 
the great end in vieiv. At the present day, we 
are not likely to be required to give up our whole 
property, or to forfeit our reputation, as a test of 
our sincerity. But we shall always be required 
to lend the whole weight of influence of both, to 
the cause of the Redeemer. H it be not com- 



LETTER X. 



245 



mandcd that we abandon the ordinary comforts 
or enjoyments of life, it is enjoined that we enter 
into none of those which are inconsistent with 
a demeanour of piety, or which could cool our 
affections, or unfit us for devotional duties : Or, 
in other words, that whatever will interfere with 
attainments in grace, or holiness, should be re- 
linquished. In this requisition there is nothing 
but what is consistent with our own happiness, 
and with the very end wc profess to have in 
view. 

I am aware that far-stretched suppositions have 
sometimes been formed on this subject as tests 
of the disinterestedness and submission of the 
Inquirer. Some have affirmed, that in order to 
obtain the divine favour we should so completely 
surrender our hearts and will to God, and so dis- 
interestedly refer to his honour, as to be willing, 
if it would promote his glory, to endure the loss 
of the soul. This extravagant notion is not 
founded on mistaken ideas of love to God alone ; 
but has been supported by a misinterpretation of 
the passage you have quoted, in which the Apos- 
tle is supposed to proffer the relinquishment of 
his own salvation, for the greater glory to God 
in the salvation of many.* But I see nothing in 

* Rom. ix : 3. 



246 LETTER X. 

this passage to countenance such an idea. The 
following paraphrase, by a judicious expounder 
of Scripture, comes much nearer to the mean- 
ing of St. Paul : " For methinks 1 could even 
wish that as Christ subjected himself to the curse, 
that he might deliver us from it, so 1 myself 
likewise were made anathema after the example 
of Christ ; like him exposed to all the execrations 
of an enraged people, and even to the infamous 
and accursed death of crucifixion itself, for the 
sake of my brethren and kinsmen according to 
the flesh, that they might thereby be delivered 
from the guilt they have brought upon their own 
heads."* The Apostle could never have inten- 
ded to say that he was willing to lie under the 
eternal wrath of God for any consideration of 
possible good that might accrue from the doom. 
Such a supposition implies a palpable contradic- 
tion : it declares that so great was his love of God, 
that, if it would promote his honour, he was wil- 
ling to be doomed to hate him for ever. 

We have no right to indulge in such paradoxi- 
cal fancies. And it is visionary to test our sin- 
cerity by questions which the Scriptures have 
never presented to our notice. Moreover, to re- 
quire evidence from ourselves of the strongest 

* Doddridge, in Iocs. 



LETTER X. 24? 

love to our Creator, as a prelude to giving our- 
selves up to him, is to require that we become 
sincere Christians — or that we be already what 
it is supposed we are seeking to be. 

Besides, we may deceive ourselves by a very 
natural error here : God demands that we fore- 
go all that is earthly, or that we render all things 
subservient to our spiritual interest. In view of 
this requirement, and under an affecting sense of 
his danger, the awakened sinner may easily 
say — " I would give up all for Christ" — while, at 
the same time, he may be insensible that it is a 
legal tender he is making — a barter of one thing 
for another : and connected with this, he may 
feel as if he had a right to the gift that he asks. 
The effort which is visible in such an offer, ren- 
ders it perfectly plain that pardon could avail 
him very little ; for his heart is still set on the 
things he professes to relinquish. Now, although 
the invitations of the Gospel are so universal, the 
promises of God are made only in behalf of a 
certain state of mind, to which their fitness is 
expressed by their own terms : the hungry, the 
thirsty, the poor in spirit, &c. And in order to 
ascertain our sincerity, it is hence our questions 
should arise, respecting the nature of our desires. 



248 LETTER X. 

A mere wish to escape the sufferings of Hell 
may make up but a small part of the desires of 
the true penitent: and although there may be 
always a variety of degrees of such feeling in 
different cases, I have sometimes known of those 
to whom it hardly occurred as a perceptible part 
of their solicitude. The Scriptural descriptions 
of Hell are well suited to alarm. They do so by 
an appeal to our natural desire of self-preserva- 
tion. But then the directions to fly from the 
wrath to come are only a use of the Law to lead 
us to Christ. While they fix our attention on 
the penalty of neglect, on the one hand, they 
may induce us on the other, to examine the way 
of salvation, — a comparison of which with our 
true condition as it is, should impress us with a 
sense of our wants. " Devils believe and trem- 
ble." They believe in the display of that eter- 
nal justice of which they are victims. The dy- 
ing impenitent sinner, too, would willingly fly 
from the wrath to come. But neither of these 
has an inclination to holiness. 

It is thus with the spurious desires of many, 
who have no wish for present purity; or none 
for its own sake. But who, on the contrary, 



LETTER X. Q^t) 

feel a willingness for spirituality only as the less 
of two evils. 

Further : True desires may be connected with 
no remarkably clear views of the loveliness of 
grace. I will suppose the Inquirer to utter the 
breathings of his heart in such language as the 
following : "I see, in some measure, not only 
the danger, but the emptiness of a worldly por- 
tion. I have not tasted of the excellency of a 
divine life, but I can form some vague idea of its 
value, and its suitableness to a state of glory. I 
can discover nothing in myself that promises 
hope, but every thing that encourages despair. 
I can exclaim, with Peter, ' to whom shall I go, 
thou hast the words of eternal life.' Yet I am 
sensible that I do not Jove God — would that I 
did ! How contemptible is every thing compared 
with this love L" 

And can you say this ? And do you earnest- 
ly wish to know T the whole truth as it is ? And 
in all this have you said — " I desire to desire 
aright" — " I believe, help my unbelief?" 

Sincerity as was before intimated, is insepara- 
ble from an effort on our own part, to reform 
our disposition and life. Whatever temper is 
opposed to a holy life — whatever unhallowed 

32 



250 



LETTER X. 



practice— whether great or little,— will be freely 
relinquished. The right eye is to be plucked out. 
or the right hand is to be cut off, and the exe- 
cutioners of the sentence are to be ourselves. 
We are not to wait, in the hope that another and 
more gentle hand will relieve us without an ex- 
ertion on our own part. 

There is one thing here which is too frequently 
overlooked : The feelings of prejudice which 
we have entertained against any one, even with 
a belief in their justice — or a retaliatory disposi- 
tion under a sense of wrong received, — must be 
extinguished. All possible pains must be taken 
to destroy it. Before we bring our gift to the 
altar, we are not only to repair wrongs commit- 
ted by ourselves, but we are to foster a concilia- 
tory temper. This is a hint of far more exten- 
sive application than may be generally imagined. 
I have seen those whose sense of injury received, 
or whose personal wound of pride — kept open 
as it was by embittered recollections, — detained 
them, while they knew it not, from the great ob- 
ject of their pursuit. They could express a 
willingness to forgive but not to forget, while 
they did not reflect that the temper which sug- 
gested this disposition, was that of a haughty 



LETTER X 251 

bearing — utterly unsuited to the posture of a sup- 
pliant for mercy. " Forgive as /forgive" is the 
tenour of acceptable prayer. But this petition 
indicates not only a desire that our sins may not 
be set to our account, but that according to the 
divine blessing, they may be " covered over" — 
remembered no more. How suitable to the 
state of some Inquirers is the consideration of 
this part of the Lord's prayer ! How fitting to 
a mind that would be prepared to love Him, 
whose pardon is sought, by a meekness and 
gentleness of disposition. And how well is it 
adapted to develope traits of a perverse temper, 
where they have taken their secret seat ! 

Acceptable desires will possess a permanency 
of character. It is permanency which most dis- 
tinguishes principle. Fitful wishes can produce 
no real good, and they designate an important 
defect somewhere. I do not mean that the 
strength or intensity of desire should continue 
exactly the same in any one. This is hardly to 
be expected. But the prevalent leaning of the 
mind will be to the grand concern before him. 
His thoughts may be diverted from it by tran- 
sient occurrencies ; but they will then still sustain 
an unfixed character, like the shaken magnetic 



252 LETTER X-. 

needle, until they are suffered to return to the 
direction in which alone they can rest. It is this 
permanency which gives the Inquirer an oppor- 
tunity of turning every thing to account, in the 
ordinary occurrencies of life. His bias of thought 
enables him to derive some incentive to perseve- 
rance from every thing with which he is concern- 
ed; While it will assist him to gather from the 
same, a deeper insight into his own natural cha- 
racter. 

I have tried to impress upon your mind, on a 
former occasion, that the whole difficulty on the 
part of the sinner may be resolved into his un- 
willingness to take God upon his own terms.— 
And it is not difficult to prove, that all the in- 
terval between first impressions, and the peace 
which flows from a reconciliation with Christ? 
is occupied in a manner which clearly testifies 
to the truth of this position. And is it not a 
melancholy fact that all this time is occupied 
in controversy with God ? " Whosoever will, let 
him come," is the language of Holy Writ : And 
the reason why the Word of God does not take 
up the different trials of the sinner, and present 
to our notice the minute experience of distinct 
cases — which you seem to think so necessary — is, 



LETTER X. 253 

that as all obstructions are referrible to some fault 
in the sinner himself, they may be seen in the 
broad statement of his own reluctance to be 
saved, or in that of the deceitfulness and treache- 
ry of the heart. Of the danger accruing from 
these, he is warned as distinctly as possible. It 
would hardly be important, then, to extend these 
details. Whenever the experience of a change 
in the heart of the sinner is marked and distinct, 
he is usually able to date it from the time in 
which he felt able to relinquish all hold on him- 
self or the world. And it is then he can most 
clearly discover that all his previous detention 
from hope consisted in a defect here. 

I must again entreat you to think no more of 
the many trials which seem to accompany all 
your exertions. You ought to be able to ascer- 
tain their true meaning ; and to see in them an 
additional reason for an immediate and unquali- 
fied surrender to Jesus Christ. And then you 
will observe that they have been over-ruled as 
instruments of conferring on you a greater know- 
ledge of yourself and God. 

The idea that so many evil thoughts come into 
your mind, is indeed painful. But these do not 
necessarily prove your desires to be false and un- 






254 LETTER X. 

acceptable. The best of Christians have reasons 
to mourn over this. And you are to discriminate 
between tempting thoughts to which your incli- 
nation assents, and those which arise in oppo- 
sition to your will, and which you prayerfully 
endeavour to repress. Should you ever have 
reason to indulge the hope of the Christian, you 
will not cease to lament your depravity. And 
now, while the great issue is pending, you are 
not to expect that Satan will relinquish his hold, 
without a vigorous effort to retain you, The 
rejoicing of Heaven over a renewed soul is an- 
swered by the malignant groans of Hell at the 
loss of a victim. Reply to every discouraging 
suggestion of the adversary by the Word of God. 
So did the Redeemer himself. And whenever 
those discouragements are suggested by the 
Scriptures, recollect that it is by detached and 
mutilated sentences. It was so, too, in the 
temptation of Christ.* Abide by his example in 
every such trial. 

I will conclude this letter by remarking that a 

* In this instance, the quotation of Satan — " He shall give his An- 
gels charge concerning thee" is imperfect. It wants the adjunct, — "In 
all thy ways :" that is, in the ways of one " dwelling in the secret place 
of the Most High." He shall indeed be kept " in all his ways" — for 
these imply a cordial obedience to the will of Jehovah : departing* 
from which, with any hone of safety, would be tempting God, 



LETTER X. 253 

serious Inquirer, who was much tried by evil 
thoughts, once told me that he never failed in 
his efforts to discard them, when he carefully 
pondered over the fiifty first Psalm. There is, 
indeed, much in it to occupy your reflections, 
and to present as subjects of prayer. 
Farewell, 

Yours, as ever, &c. 



257 



H, BE EBBS ^2 8 

Difficulties in prayer — Causes — Mistake respecting the na- 
ture of prayer — Confusion in the mind of the Inquirer — 
False anticipations in prayer — Perplexity from our igno- 
rance of the person addressed — Directions in prayer — 
The duty of describing personal trials — Habit of atten- 
tion — Remedy for wandering thoughts — Application of 
special promises — Scriptural examples — Seasons for 
Prayer — Ejaculatory desires — Forms — Does God " ever 
withhold his Grace, for a season, to try the sinner ?" — An- 
swered. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

You are right when you say, that " no class 
" of difficulties seems more serious to the Inquir- 
" er than those relating to the duty of prayer." 
Easy as it may have appeared, formerly, to offer 
a petition to the throne of grace, his disap- 
pointment is frequently as complete as that which, 
he experiences in reading the Scriptures. The 
discovery which he may make in the first attempt 
to pray, is mortifying and distressing : and it ought 

33 






258 LETTER XI. 

to be humbling, too. He sees that the utterance 
of a form of words, and the posture of suppli- 
cation, on which he would have once depended, 
may be a very different thing from that exercise 
of heart which is carried on near the mercy-seat. 
He looks back with astonishment, to those un- 
meaning acts of outward devotion, with which 
he had once satisfied his conscience, and for 
which he expected, in return, the favour of his 
God. He sees that there w 7 as a something want- 
ing of which he had not thought; and which he 
now labours to obtain. Perhaps there is no dis- 
covery more striking to the mind of the awaken- 
ed sinner than this. And certainlv none more 
alarming to his fears. And all the general direc- 
tions which he receives on the subject, appear 
either inapplicable to his own case, or wholly 
impracticable for him. In a strait of this kind, 
advice is often thrown away, although given by 
the lips of prudence and piety. All representa- 
tions of divine mercy are ineffectual. To others, 
he conceives, they may be suitable ; but not to 
himself. And to every thing of the kind, he op- 
poses the palpable evidence of his utter incom- 
petency to express any thing but empty sounds, 



LETTER XI. 259" 

which reach no further than the atmosphere above 
him. Let us endeavour to account for this : 

One of the first causes which occur to us, is 
that of a mistake respecting the nature of prayer. 
So confident was he in the attribute of mercy, 
that he believed any application which might be 
made, infallibly successful. To the bare expres- 
sions of prayer he had attributed a sovereign in- 
fluence ; without any reference to the state of the 
heart of the petitioner, or to a sense of his per- 
sonal wants. He makes the experiment in the 
first hour of his alarm. And he ends it, as might 
have been expected, with a sensation of disap^ 
pointment. Now, the whole reason of this fail- 
ure may be summed up in a single word — igno- 
rance : Ignorance of what he was doing — of 
the character of his God — or of the nature of 
the object desired. Had this man sat down for 
a moment, and reflected on these things, be as- 
sured, the tenor of his prayer would have been 
very different from what it was. Instead of ask- 
ing for an undefined something — instead of look- 
ing for what he did not understand, he would 
have seen the necessity of praying — " enlighten 
thou mine eyes I" He might have seen the im- 
portance of giving himself up, at once to his 



260 LETTER XI 

God — as awfully ignorant as well as helpless. 
And he would have seen, too, the duty of ap- 
proaching the great Arbiter of his fate, with a 
very different idea of his holy character. 

Never let us, My Dear Sir, venture on the 
solemn act of addressing Deity, without pausing 
to inquire of ourselves, what we are about to 
do. Reflection and self-examination should al- 
ways precede the exercise of prayer : not on our 
own account alone, but likewise on that of Him 
who demands the homage of both the understand- 
ing and the heart. 

Another cause of failure consists in that con- 
fusion attendant on the anxiety of the awakened 
sinner. The painful agitation which accompa- 
nies the conflict of the passions at this time, often 
indisposes the mind to any thing direct. This is 
a natural effect of powerful or unexpected grief, 
in even temporal circumstances ; and I have al- 
ready adverted to it, in a former Letter. The 
feelings may so completely overcome the judge- 
ment as to prevent any proper application of the 
faculty of thought. In this state of distress we 
hear him exclaim — u Oh I cannot pray /" He 
iwakes the effort again and again ; but only to 



LETTER XL 261 

relinquish it as hopeless, after each instance of 
trial. 

This is sometimes an awful condition of mind. 
The moral darkness within, which the sufferer 
vainly attempts to dissipate, is as it were in con- 
trast with the light of the natural world around 
him, and seems to tell fearfully to his soul. The 
tumult in his bosom that breaks out into the loud 
sigh, or the heaving and reluctant groan, that 
interrupts the stillness of his place of retirement — 
and the silence which succeeds it, and seems to 
pervade the universe of his being, as if to inti- 
mate a negative to any hopes of relief — all are 
portentous to an alarmed imagination. — An un- 
defined but horrible sensation of vacancy attends 
the exclamation — " I am lost !" Attempts to force 
the way through this darkness and despair, — half 
frantic and impulsive as they are — serve only to 
render the sense of wretchedness more complete, 
and the conviction of hopelessness more decided. 
This case is not quite an extreme one. And 
different degrees of approach to it you have often 
noticed in biographical sketches. The great per- 
plexity here consists in the inability to give vent 
to the pent-up feeling 



262 LETTER XI; 

" If I could only pray — If I could give utte- 
rance to thought — or if I could be sensible that my 
broken cry is heard — either of these would relieve 
me of at leasi part of the weight which 1 am 
doomed to sustain !" — Here the spirit is wounded 
by an unseen hand, and yet knows not where nor 
how. The exclamation — "help, Lord, or I perish!" 
is made with entire distrust. Consideration or re- 
flection are afar off; or they have no certain ob- 
ject. 

Now, even in this case, we should direct the 
Inquirer to prayer. But it would be with the 
same advice given in the last instance — let him 
think what he is to pray for. Let him remember 
that the mere burst of passion is, not unfrequent- 
ly, the indulgence of a selfish feeling, encouraged 
to excite compassion or sympathy ; and exceed- 
ingly apt to produce that sensation of self-com- 
placency, which is not easily accounted for, but 
which hides or palliates, the deformity of guilt : 
and that while he may be insenible of the effect 
on himself. 

God, My Dear Sir, is not the author of con- 
fusion. And we are not to attribute such effects 
as these to him; and then to ask his relief with- 
out knowing what we require. Still, if we are 



LETTER XL ^63 

making every effort to understand our own situ- 
ation ; and find them all ineffectual, we may take 
our very cares on this subject to the Mercy Seat : 
and in the language of one of old, have reason to 
say — " I am full of confusion, therefore see thou 
mine affliction. " 

It is not necessary, however, to suppose so 
great a chaos of mind as this confusion implies, 
in order to insure the same failure. There may 
be conviction of sin, and sense of want ; some 
vague notion of a distant Saviour ; and yet the 
sensation, — if I may so express myself, — of a void 
space, wherever the thoughts roam in search of 
a resting-place. And this may be, sometimes, 
the experience of the Christian himself, when 
some secret sin, or some lurking habit of evil, has 
insensibly removed his peace, and created a sol- 
itude of feeling, and a dejection of spirit. And 
when, until the latent cause is brought to view, 
he roams abroad, like the dove of Noah, seeking 
in vain for an element to which he had been ac- 
customed, or for a place of repose which he had 
formerly known. And what energy of meaning — 
what full utterance of feeling is that which he 
conveys in the words of the Patriarch — " Oh, 
that I knew where I might find him ! that I might 



264 LETTER XL 

come even to his seat ! I would order my cause 
before him, and fill my mouth with arguments. 
I would know the words which he would an- 
swer me, and understand what he would say un- 
to me !"* 

Another cause of failure consists in a false an- 
ticipation of the kind of answer to be given by the 
hearer of prayer. The transport of joy — the de- 
lightful feeling of a holy confidence, — the assur- 
ance of pardon — the plain proof of heavenly 
communion — or the sudden removal of anxiety — 
these, or some of them, are generally the objects 
of sanguine expectation with an ardent mind. 
And even he who is near to the kingdom of 
Heaven may detain himself from all he is seek- 
ing, while he perversely insists on certain results 
in certain prescribed forms. Now, the answer to 
prayer may be of a very different character. 
An exact compliance with our wishes may be 
inconsistent with our good. Paul's thrice-told 
petition obtained an answer essentially different 
from his expectations. But then that answer 
subserved an equally good purpose with the one 
he had sought. And thus it will often be. In- 
stead of conscious peace and pardon a deeper 

* Job, xxiii : 3, 4. 5, 



LETTER XI. 265 

sense of sin may ensue in the bosom of the peni- 
tent. Instead of participation in the pleasures of 
communion with God, the only evidence of ac- 
ceptance may be in those fervent aspirations of 
soul which may indicate a change unknown to 
himself. 

I admit with you that one who has never hith- 
erto exercised any earnestness in the act of pray- 
er, and who proceeds to that duty with serious- 
ness for the first time, may feel at a loss respec- 
ing the personal object of his address. Accus- 
tomed to things of sense as he has been, he may 
find a difficulty in addressing a Being spiritual 
and invisible ; of whom he attempts in vain to 
form some idea, while he conceives that a just 
conception of him, as a person, is indispensible 
to a right and fixed direction of the mind. And 
it is not uncommmon to call in the aid of imagi- 
nation, in order to figure the very appearance 
of Him to whom the prayer is to be preferred. 
And the flitting and varying representation which 
this faculty presents, increases the disorder which 
already reigns within the soul. Nor would it be 
extraordinary, in such a dilemma, if we find our- 
selves engaged in the double exertion of sustain- 
ing the imagination in its work, and canvassing 
our wants and desire^ at the same time. I have 

34 



266 LETTER XL 

sometimes heard the Inquirer, while unaffectedly 
distressed, asking, " in what form he is to con- 
ceive of God, and how he is to bring within the 
range of his mental vision, the Being whom he 
wishes to address :" and yet the complaint is not 
one, for the most part, which is openly made. 
It more usually belongs to the secret experience 
of the Inquirer. 

The difficulty here arises entirely from the state 
of the petitioner's mind. If the sense of his wants 
were less vague, and if the specific design of his 
prayer were rendeied distinct by a particular 
knowledge of them, he would see no reason for 
this complaint. It is not any defined appearance 
of his Maker that he should call to his aid — nor 
are we at liberty to indulge in such fantasies— 
but it is a consciousness of the unhallowed con- 
dition of our hearts, and their absolute necessi- 
ties, which can forni a prayer of faith and feel- 
ing. 

That sense of distance, too, between himself 
and his Creator, of which the Inquirer so often 
speaks, is to be removed by a better knowledge 
of his own heart. It is this alone, bitter and 
painful as it may be, which will produce the op- 
posite sensation of the nearness of Deity to tis> 



LETTER XI. 0£7 

You obsoivc an illustration of this remark in 
any instance of strong remorse, in vvtrch the 
sufferer makes a very different complaint, while 
he is conscious that the all seeing eye of his 
Maker is upon him, and feels as if the space 
were narrow between him and his Judge. 

No difficulty ought to arise in our minds from 
our notions of the Trinity. The Scriptures have 
very distinctly made it our duty, in our private 
devotions, to address ourselves to Jesus Christ. 
And this, as I have before said, was a direction 
of his own. As our Mediator and Advocate we 
approach to him. Thus there is no higher act 
of faith to which a believer can be called, than 
that of committing his departing soul to the care 
of his God : And the dying language of the first 
Christian Martyr was, " Lord Jesus, receive my 
spirit !"* 

Let me subjoin a few reflections respecting the 
exercise of prayer, which may possibly be of 
some assistance in that important duty : 

Endeavour to describe your personal trials and 
perplexities^ when you come to a throne of grace* 
This practice, with that of confessing our sins, 

* Some judicious remarks on this subject may be found in " Owen's 
" Cases of Conscience'' — Discourse V. vol. xvi. of his works. 



268 XETTER XL 

at the same time, recommended as it is by the 
examples of the saints, and enjoined as it is by 
the Word of God, has many advantages which 
may not, at first, occur to the mind of the In- 
quirer, ft is true, indeed, that our Creator knows 
the extent and aggravations of our guilt, and the 
nature of our wants ; but he requires as to know 
them likewise. He is not ignorant of our neces- 
sities ; but he would see us sensible of them our- 
selves. Now, the detail of these presupposes us 
to have examined our hearts, and to have form- 
ed at least some acquaintance with them. And 
this very act of narrating is admirably adapted 
to produce that humility of mind and temper, 
and that sense of dependence, without which we 
shall certainly plead in vain. The very recount- 
ing of our personal trials and difficulties brings 
us almost certainly nearer to Him to whom they 
are told ; while it is suited to promote our faith 
and confidence in him. You have sometimes 
noted how clearly this is illustrated in a case of 
temporal suffering. The man who sits down to 
write an account of his distresses to one from 
whom relief is possible, not only discovers him- 
self more sensible of his situation, and is more 
affected by it, in the engagement ; but his hope 



LETTER XI. 269 

of success in the application, and his expecta- 
tions of sympathy, continue to increase. The 
direction of Jesus Christ, then, is founded in wis- 
dom, and admirably fitted to our nature, when 
he bids us present all our cares to him, and com- 
municate all our wants. 

Endeavour to keep your attention as fixed as 
possible, while engaged in this exercise. There 
is no fault into which we more easily fall than 
that of a wandering of thought Now, apart 
from the sinfulness of this, as the very essence of 
hypocrisy, it is likely to be followed by conse- 
quences to ourselves of the most dangerous cha- 
racter. Wandering thought in devotion, of all 
other sins, most easily becomes a habit, by a par- 
tial indulgence; and it most unconsciously steals 
upon us. A single instance of this extends itself 
to our next effort. And the petitioner may find 
the unhappy propensity almost beyond the pow- 
er or reach of his arrest. The best remedy, per- 
haps, for so insidious an evil, is that of uttering 
our thoughts aloud. The small degree of exer- 
tion which this requires, is well suited to the exi- 
gency of the case. It enforces attention ; and 
prevents that distraction which external objects 
so readily produce in the mind. It does more. 



270 BETTER XI. 

It makes an impression which may be durable 
after the act is over. A judicious friend who 
complained much of his temptation here, in sea- 
sons set apart for meditation, has since observed 
that he never failed to find " thinking aloud" an 
effectual means of preventingabstraction from 
the subject of his reflections. 

Apply special promises to special cases in pray- 
er. I have already hinted the importance of 
turning the precepts of God into prayer; and 
the duty of applying to ourselves whatever 
Scriptural passages meet our condition. Wc 
should do the same with the promises of the 
Divine Word. There is something exceedingly 
encouraging in presenting the very words of 
Him who can aid us, at the throne of grace ; 
and so far as thev suit our condition we are 
warranted in doing so. There seems a special 
hope of a blessing in the very reflection that the 
same spirit which indited the language of Holy 
Writ, is said to assist the earnest and sincere pe- 
titioner.* You will no doubt recollect how com- 
mon was the practice which I am commending 
among " good men of old." Jacob urged, for 
an important purpose, that Jehovah had bidden 

* Rom. viii : 26„ 



LETTER XI. 271 

him leave his country and kindred, and had given 
him assurance of security.* Solomon presented 
the promise which had been made to his father 
David. f Jehoshaphat named that which had 
been given to Solomon J Daniel reads the 
pledge to Jeremiah, and then applies it in his 
prayer. || The Apostle Paul embraces the pro- 
mise which had been given to Joshua so long 
before, and makes it the ground of an unshaken 
confidence in his own day.^ And Simeon ex- 
pired in the very arms of a gracious promise, 
with the breathings of prayer. IE And what an 
encouragement have we in the reflection that the 
special ground of an answer to prayer lies in the 
performance of promises. The faithfulness of 
God is our surety. 

Regard proper seasons of prayer, I do not 
mean, simply, that stated periods should be set 
apart for this purpose. It would always be well 
to form and sustain a habit of this kind ; the vio- 
lation of which, especially where it is not neces- 
sary, has certainly an unhappy effect on our sub- 
sequent devotions. But there are seasons when 
the heart of the Inquirer, to use a strong figure, 

* Gen. xsxii : 9. t Kings, viii : 24. $ II Chrcn. sac : S, || Dan* 
ix : 2, & $ Heb. xiii : 5, 6. tf L.uke, ii : 29. 



272 LETTER XI. 

is full : when his feelings are more tender, hi,? 
desires more strong ; and his sense both of his 
wants, and the nearness of his God, is more dis- 
tinct. These should never be suffered to pass 
unimproved. They are distinguished by signals 
for prayer : and its utterance would be more 
free, while its pleas would be more urgent, than 
at fixed and regular periods. I doubt whether 
there ever was a sincere Inquirer who was not 
sensible of this difference in the state of his feel- 
ings. The same susceptibility which exposes 
him to changes from trifles inimical to serious 
thought, prepares him for impressions of a diffe- 
rent nature from more favourable incidents. A 
passing word, or a petty circumstance which had 
no direct reference to his state of mind, may 
sometimes produce a more powerful effect, in 
softening and subduing the heart, than hours of 
sober reflection. 

I am aware that it may not always be conve- 
nient to retire for the immediate improvement of 
such effects. But it would be well to sacrifice a 
less advantage for a greater ; and to endeavour to 
improve as fully as possible, what may really be 
the operation of the Holy Ghost upon the mind. 
But where this is wholly impracticable, let ejac- 



LETTER XI. O73 

ulatory prayer supply the place of more regular 
devotions. It is a delightful reflection that God 
is with us every where : and is every where rea- 
dy to listen to the cry of the sincere penitent. — 
Some of the most effectual prayers recorded in 
the Bible, are of an ejaculatory character. And 
the Saviour himself, to whom we offer our de- 
sires, has set us an eminent example. Nor in- 
deed do I believe, — if it were right to institute 
the comparison, — that the observance of set sea- 
sons for devotion so completely evinces a proper 
frame of mind — all important as it is — as an ha* 
bitual readiness and disposition to earnest ejacu- 
latory prayer. Here, too, the secular avocations 
of life can create no serious interruption. The 
heart may hold converse with God in the midst 
of the bustle and distractions of the world. 

With respect to forms of prayer — they may 
sometimes be necessary ; and the plea of indo- 
lence, or ignorance, or diffidence, is frequently 
preferred in their behalf. But I have always 
thought them unfavourable to the interest of the 
Inquirer. It would hardly be practicable for 
any man to form a prayer precisely suited to 
the state and exigences of another. Any such 
attempt Would be defective in those particulars 

35 



274 



LETTER XI. 



which most nearly concern our private experience*, 
and the description of which would re quire an in- 
timate knowledge of our own case. Expressions, 
confessions and terms, are of necessity general ; 
and do not reach far into the heart. And, inde- 
pendent of this, they, not unfrequently, create a 
wrong leaning of the mind ; while they form a 
marked contrast with that freshness of desire 
which springs warm from the bosom. I have 
said "a wrong leaning," — for all subjects of 
prayer do not closely fit the case of the Inquirer ; 
and where they do not, they tend to increase his 
confusion and perplexity, however well indited 
they may be : An effect which he very frequently 
discovers in the devotions of the sanctuary. — 
The utter impossibility of suiting any publick 
leading in prayer to the wants of all, and the 
duty of each presenting his own case, seems to 
have been referred to by Solomon at the dedica- 
tion of the Temple — " what prayer and suppli- 
cation soever be made by any man, or by all thy 
people Israel, which shall know every man the 
plague of his awn heart, and spread forth his 
hands towards this house : then hear thou in 
Heaven thy dwelling place, and forgive and do, 
and give to every man according to his ways? 



LETTER XT. 275 

whose heart thou knowest ; (for thou, even thou 
only, knowest the hearts of all the children of men.*) 

Advantageous as these set compositions may 
be in certain instances, in publick worship — and 
even then they require frequent alterations to suit 
the circumstances of the time and the age — • 
they are not adapted to the private use of the 
Awakened Sinner. Besides — the very attempt 
to express our own personal wants, not only gives 
us a clear insight into ourselves, and thus consti- 
tutes one of the means of promoting the great 
end in view, but it adds intensity to the sense of 
want and the feelings of desire, and leaves an 
impression which may be abiding and salutary. 

It does more : if the directions 1 have already 
given be followed, the practice of extempora- 
neous prayer will lead us to cultivate a familiar 
acquaintance with the Word of God. Habitu- 
ate yourself, then, to the use of your own lan- 
guage ; however feeble and incoherent you may 
deem it, the Great Hearer of prayer will never 
reject it on account of its verbal imperfections. 

You ask, whether God ever withholds his grace 
from the Inquirer in order to try him further, after 
he is already endued with a penitent and humble 

* I King, viii : 38, 39. 



276 LETTER XI. 

frame of feeling ?" The whole tenor of my let- 
ters is against the affirmative of this question. 
But it may deserve something more explicit : 

I have more than once known those in deep 
distress advised to persevere under the idea that 
the Dispenser of pardon may be testing their pa- 
tience ; or, in other words, waiting until they ac- 
quire this virtue, as a preliminary to the reward 
of acceptance. This is not only injudicious, but 
it is unscriptural. And, instead of proving an 
incentive to perseverance, as it is intended to be, 
it is discouraging in the extreme. The unregen- 
erate sinner can achieve nothing to entitle him to 
favour : And there is no intermediate state, in 
which he can ever be supposed, between ruin 
and grace. Nor can any withholding, on the 
part of God, when the sinner approaches aright, 
detain him in the former of these conditions. If 
it were otherwise, and we were allowed a sup- 
position on this subject, then the death of the 
sinner, in that intermediate state, would leave 
the fault of his final rejection from Heaven at 
the door of the Author of his being. 

The examples which you have quoted in " the 
Syrophenician woman," " the importunate wi- 
dow," and the " neighbour soliciting bread," 



LETTER X! 277 

were never designed to encourage such a conclu- 
sion ; nor have they any reference whatever to 
the case. The trials which God may suffer his 
people to undergo, while he supports them at the 
same time, and improves some grace within them 
to their ultimate good, is no indication that lie 
ever would stand back, a single moment from the 
penitent sinner. To require immediate and uncon- 
ditional submission on our own part, and to tender 
the promises in return, and then to delay their 
fulfilment, has never been the manner of the 
Divine dealing. The prayer of the true penitent 
is answered at once, although it may not be in a 
way perceptible to himself, nor with the imme- 
diate consequences to his own mind, which he 
had fondly anticipated. We must learn to distin- 
guish between the manner and the thing : be- 
tween an utter refusal and the mode of conferring 
the boon. I should not hesitate to say to any 
complainer on this subject, that either his prayer 
was already answered, or the fault was entirely 
his own. Nor can we escape this inference while 
we consider the Creator consistent with himself. 
I cannot, therefore, restrain an expression of re- 
gret when 1 read a contrary sentiment in works 
expressly designed to relieve or assist the Inquirer. 



278 LETTER XL 

Any question of this nature seems so clearly and 
unequivocally settled in the Word of God, that it 
is a matter of surprize how it should involve a 
doubt in any other mind, than one harassed by 
its fears, and confused by its perplexities. 

Adieu, Dear Sir may the spirit of prayer 

richly abound in you, and may you realize, in its 
exercise, the full assurance of grace, mercy, and 
peace ! 

Truly yours, &c. 



279 



A common error adverted to again — An evil from Theology 
ical distinctions — Different kinds of repentance — The 
Scriptural distinction — Sorrow does not constitute repen- 
tance — The perversion of legal sorrow to a false hope — 
Examples — The error reproved in Scripture — Its cause — 
Causes leading to repentance — Conviction of sin — Why 
not to be effected without Divine aid — Looking to Christ a 
means of repentance — The process — Evangelical sor- 
row follows — Difference between counterfeit and true 
repentance — Conclusion. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

There is one error which 1 have had reason 
several times to mention, as possessing a more 
pervasive influence in the mind of the Inquirer 
than any other: I refer to the idea that there is 
a certain something to be obtained by him before 
he ventures to approach the Redeemer with the 
hope of mercy, or even the hope of an audience. 
And this error creeps into his very notion of the 
Christian graces. It puts a construction on th£ 
Divine language foreign from its true import, 



Ogfl LETTER XIL 

and renders reflection upon it the means of in- 
creasing confusion. You have known the appli- 
cation of this remark to the duty and doctrine 
of repentance. And I have frequently seen the 
convinced sinner keeping aloof, and at least half 
satisfied with himself in doing so, until he may 
be able to ascertain whether he has evidence of 
true repentance ; without which he would con- 
ceive all application nugatory, and accompanied 
with which he would be assured of a favourable 
answer. The amount of all which is, that he 
desires to be a Christian before he asks the Di- 
vine influence, which is to render him such — that 
he would have evidence of being saved before 
he solicits salvation. This practical contradic- 
tion is too flagrant to need a comment. 

Another evil on this subject arises from those 
theological distinctions respecting the nature of 
this grace, with which the Inquirer may often 
be more entertained than edified. A clear view 
of repentance, and of its place in the covenant 
of God, is certainly important. But the adop- 
tion of metaphysical distinctions, and a nice and 
accurate discrimination of the consecutive order 
of certain causes and effects, is rather an accom- 
plishment in the Theologian, than an advantage 



LETTER XII 281 

to the Inquirer. Instead of reviewing the past to 
discover the evidence of direct approach to re- 
pentance, or to institute a comparison of such 
workings with other things, the only duty before 
you is to learn whether you have indeed repent- 
ed. To assist you in this, I will reduce within 
the limits of a single letter, all that appears to me 
essential on the subject. 

Practical divines have divided repentance into 
three kinds : the first is called natural, and it is 
supposed to have no reference to rewards or pun- 
ishments ; as when a man of integrity and honor 
regrets the commission of an act which violates 
the rules he had adopted for his own guidance, 
but without fearing, or thinking of, any conse- 
quences arising from the law of God. I will not 
stay to discuss the justness of this distinction. — 
The second division, is that of legal repentance, 
which is simply a regret of the commission of 
sin on account of its personal consequences in the 
penalty of a violated law. Different from this, 
evangelical repentance is both a principle and a 
habit, and belongs to the Christian alone, while 
it is accompanied with a class of feelings pecu- 
liar to itself. These I shall describe on another 
page of this sheet. 

m 



282 LETTER Xir. 

There are two words in the Scriptures which 
our translators have rendered by the term repen- 
tance.* The first of these signifies " after reflec- 
tion," or, " after care, and anxiety." It indi- 
cates a simple alteration of feeling, — sorrow on 
account of something that has taken place on our 
own part, without any reference to the nature 
of that sorrow, or its durability ; and without any 
connexion with the moral character of the act, or 
its eternal consequences. You have an example 
of this in the man who has expended time or 
money in a deed of benevolence, and regrets 
having done so. 

The second word, which is literally translated, 
€C a change of mind," is designed to designate an 
alteration for the better, and refers to the purpo- 
ses and dispositions of the heart. It indicates 
not only sorrow for the past, but such a radical 
change in the affections as to create a permanent 
abhorrence of the evil. In II Corinthians vii : 
10, you will find both these words in the original 
Greek, with the constructions now assigned them. - 

If 1 were to select the mistake most common 
to Inquirers on this subject, I should certainly 
point to the impression that sorrow constitutes re*> 

* MsrKpiXua and M%rv.nm, 



LETTER XII: 283 

jjentance, and that its intensity is the test of sin- 
cerity. And it is this idea which frequently leads 
the Inquirer to exertion to deepen his grief, with- 
out examining its character or its cause. Mere 
sorrow, without reference to these, may be very 
distinct from the grace in question. Judas ex- 
hibited this ; and according to the first sense of 
the word, repented of his sin ; but the feeling ter- 
minated in suicide. The Jews, on the day of 
Pentecost, were in deep sorrow when they cried 
out " men and brethren, what shall we do ?" The 
answer of Peter directed them to repentance. 
But the distinction is not less marked in the 
words of another Apostle — " Godly sorrow work- 
eth repentance" — and therefore, however con- 
ducive to such an end, is not that end itself; and 
yet the distress of thousands under serious im- 
pressions, is very far from reaching to Godly sor- 
row. 

I have seen an unprofitable grief in more than 
one practical form, — for the natural temper and 
disposition will always vary the form ; and not 
rarely has it led to a ruin of the spiritual inte- 
rests of the soul. 

A friend of mine, whose conscience the Word 
of God had reached, in one of its ministrations. 



284 LETTER XII: 

was seized, from the first moment, with a horror 
of apprehension which no argument could allay. 
Every countenance which he saw recalled some 
bitter recollections ; every new topic of conver- 
sation, or subject of thought, presented new causes 
of self reproach. His feelings were wrought up 
to an agony which threatened his reason ; and 
he presented a living spectacle of the picture 
painted by a poet's fancy : 

" So writhes the mind remorse hath riven : 
Unfit for earth, undoomed for Heaven : 
Darkness above — Despair beneath, 
Around it flame— within it death." 

But what was the consequence of all this ?— 
The pity and sympathy which such a distressing 
case produced in the hearts of others, — and which 
were often most injudiciously expressed — para- 
doxical as it may seem, led to similar sensations 
in his own bosom, and in behalf of his own con- 
dition. He appeared to have separated his sad 
state of mind from himself; and after then view- 
ing it as a proper object of compassion, he very 
naturally concluded that God did the same : and 
gradually assumed the hope of mercy, without — 
we have reason to fear,— a single just ground, 



LETTER XII 285 

or a single evidence of a truly penitent disposi- 
tion. 

To one who has not examined the workings 
of the heart, it may appear surprizing that the 
sufferer can so abstractedly view his sorrow as 
apart from himself, and literally feel a sympathy 
for it, as if it were the lot of another. But no 
one who has endured a pungency of grief for a 
length of time, and has taken the pains to ana- 
lize his feelings, will fail to discover this reaction. 
And the tenderness and softness of the feeling 
which then ensues, may very easily be mistaken 
for a change in the bent and disposition of the 
mind and the heart. The Inquirer — if we might 
still call him so — is contented with this effect. 
He looks away from those tests, which on a 
careless survey, would have proved him want- 
ing; in spiritual taste and desires. 

There is another appearance of this sorrow 
which is still more imposing, and which is very 
naturally produced in certain physical constitu- 
tions that bend, like the willow, to the earth, 
whenever the storm of affliction is severe. — 

P r was one of this description. The very 

first sense of his sinfulness appeared to give a 
meekness and gentleness to his spirit; very far 



286 LETTER XII. 

from that boisterous effusion of grief, which eithev 
expends itself soon by its violence, and leaves a 
suspicious calm after its departure ; or else gives 
place to the reaction, which is equally fatal. The 

spirit of P r acquired an apparent placidness, 

while it drooped under reflections that mortified 
his pride, and produced a conscious hopelessness 
within him. It bowed to the stroke of sorrow, 
as if it courted the blow, and as if a given num- 
ber of the strokes were to complete the measure 
of his suffering. It was a fancied martyrdom, in 
which he anticipated the sacrifice of his passions ; 
or a fiery ordeal in which his evil propensities 
were to be consumed, — and the proof of his suc- 
cess, to be in the patience and submission of his 
temper. Neither cause nor effect in all this was 
understood. And he looked for all that result 
which is to be produced by the Holy Ghost up- 
on the heart, as an issue which is to be completed 
by the simple process of a depressing sorrow. 
And as might be expected in such a case, his 
only complaint was, that his grief was not suf- 
ficiently pungent : While from every source from 
which it was possible to derive bitter recollec- 
tions, he endeavoured to collect new habiliments 
of mourning, and new means of mental depres- 



LETTER XII. 287 

sion. His labour was not in vain. He succeed- 
ed in forming a despondency, accompanied with 
all that suavity which renders it attractive, and 
that self- persuasion of humility which so readily 
follows it, without a single idea of the loathsome- 
ness of sin, or of the nature of evangelical re- 
pentance. 

But whatever be the form of this fictitious 
grief, it is severely reproved by the Word of God. 
In the message which he sent by his prophet 
Isaiah, he asks of those who had fallen into this 
mistake — " Is it such a fast that I have chosen ? 
a day for a man to afflict his soul ? Is it to bow 
down his head as a bulrush, and to spread sack- 
cloth and ashes under him ? Wilt thou call this 
a fast, and an acceptable day to the Lord ? Is 
not this the fast that I have chosen ? to loose the 
bands of wickedness, &c."* And a verse which 
follows, beautifully describes the effect of the Di- 
vine blessing on the mind of the sincere peni- 
tent ; who to a conviction of sin adds a discharge 
of duty, and a faithful obedience to the Will of 
God, while a sense of darkness has humbled 
and dejected his soul — " Then shall thy light 
break forth as the morning, and thine health 

* Isa. lviii. 9—7, 



288 LETTER XII. 

shall spring forth speedily ; and thy righteous- 
ness shall go before thee : the glory of the Lord 
Shall be thy rere-ward." 

The error in both the preceding cases, as well 
as in many others, consists in attributing to na- 
ture what is the work of the Spirit alone. It 
was the promise of God that his Son should be 
" exalted to be a prince and a Saviour, to give 
repentance to Israel." The gift is from on High ; 
while the means which are used to bring it into 
exercise, are invariably the same. Let us ex- 
amine these : 

The first is, a true conviction, or sense of guilt 
There is something in our natural constitution 
which renders supernatural aid indispensible, to 
produce such an effect. That inherent selfish- 
ness which blinds us to the truth, and leads us 
even to hope for the best, while it palliates and 
excuses the evil that is visible, can be restrain- 
ed by none but a Divine power. You have seen 
its effects, in another shape, in cases of daily 
occurrence. The culprit in a civil court, whom 
an enlightened jury have condemed, and whom 
every auditor at the trial concurs in pronoun- 
cing guilty, sees a variety of causes in the man- 
ner and circumstances of the offence — in the 



letter xir. 289 

temptation which led to it — and in his own pas- 
sions — to mitigate the crime, for which he is to 
pay the penalty of a violated law. His guilt in- 
deed is proved, and he may not be disposed to 
deny it. Still you cannot convince him that there 
are not circumstances which entitle him to the 
consideration of mercy. And if such be his im- 
pressions, it is very certain that he has not a fair 
view of his own case. 

Of a similar nature are the impressions of an 
unrenewed sinner. He may be assured of his 
doom ; and he may agonize under a consciousness 
of approaching wrath ; and he may believe that 
the woe which awaits him is the consequence of 
his guilt. But, still, he secretly believes that there 
is no proportion between the evil and its punish- 
ment. He is not persuaded that, in his own in- 
stance, " the judge of all the earth will do right" 
in his condemnation. Or if he openly admit the 
equity of his God, he fosters a latent hope, from 
the disparity of his guilt, — with all its supposed 
palliations, — and the penalty of a broken law. 

Independent of this, there is, very often, a false 
view of the state of things between him and his 
God. He sees his Creator in the light — not of 
one pure and holy, and hating iniquity, and desir- 

37 



290 LETTER XIJ. 

ing that his creature should turn and live — but, 
as an inexorable judge — the severe and inflexible 
arbiter of his fate. All this, accompanied as it 
may be with dreadful apprehensions — is a most 
imperfect view of the state of his soul's affairs. 
He forgets that the separation between the soul 
and its God, with all that makes up the torments 
of Tophet, is not simply the result of crimes that 
are past, it is a necessary attendant on the state 
of the sinner. It is not merely that God hates 
him, as a transgressor ; but he hates his God. — 
There is an active hostility against his Maker, 
which is not always brought into visible play, 
and which he attempts to conceal from his own 
sight. And it is the cherished ignorance or for- 
getfulness of this, which constitutes his first serious 
difficulty. And it is the full discovery of this 
which forms the climax of a state of horror, to 
which the mind is sometimes brought — present- 
ing a faint, yet awful exhibition of the condition 
of lost spirits. 

An example of all this fearfulness I well re- 
member : 

A received no very deep wound in his 

first discovery of danger. There was even a 
kind of pleasure attending that discovery, arising 



LETTER XII 291 

from a sanguine expectation, that pardon and 
mercy were at no great interval of space from 
his present condition. Baffled hopes led to more 
serious efforts to learn more of himself. A further 
developement of his guilt daily increased his con- 
sciousness of a nearing doom. In this his thoughts 
became absorbed. A continued failure augment- 
ed his distress, while it brought into action a 
bitterness of feeling wholly in contrast with what 
had appeared to be his natural character. From 
secret accusation of his Maker, he proceeded to 
more explicit reflections against the Divine Being. 
Even malignity was imbodied in language which 
would shock the ears of the respecter of religion. 
Pride, disappointed hope, and a galling sense of 
utter inability to help himself, were visible toge- 
ther in the expressions which fell from his lips. 
" I see my wretchedness" — said he, on one occa- 
sion, when both manner and tone indicated the 
strong conflict of passions within — " and God 
sees it too. He who alone could help me is array- 
ed against me. There is no escape. No power 
can withstand him. Hell is before me — Would 
that no God existed — or that he were other than 
he is !" — There was something so blasphemous 
in all this, that one would be disposed to question 



LETTER Xlf. 

the sanity of the utterer. But there was no rea- 
son for such a doubt The example may not be 
common. But no example of the complete and 
open acting out of a principle is common. Its 
operation may be comparatively silent, and still 
equally effective. Where true repentance is want- 
ing, there may be a feeling of desolation in sight 
of sin ; and a consciousness of awaiting wrath ; 
but a right understanding of the nature of sin 
itself, or of its extent, cannot exist. In the mean- 
while, there is an aversion from our Judge — a 
repugnance to the plan of his dealing, often in 
exact proportion to our discoveries. " Where, 
then, is the fault" ?— You would ask : " Why do 
not such discoveries lead to a happy issue ?" I 
answer, because they are partial : and they must 
ever be so while repentance is wanting. Their 
imperfection arises from looking at a wrong ob- 
ject. The broadest survey we can take from the 
light of the law alone, will effect no good end. — 
It will only lead to a horror of mind, while it 
will awaken the enmity of the heart. The dif- 
ference between the sinner here and in the world 
of despair, is, that this is the only discovery the 
latter can ever make in the abode of the lost ; 
whereas the former may take such a view of sin 
as will lead him, to repentance, 



LETTER XII. 29 



.-> 



This remark brings me to the second cause, 
or more properly, the true source of repentance : 

In the spirit of prophecy, in which the promise 
of redemption was given, and that of the remis- 
sion of sins, it was said — " they shall look upon 
me whom they have pierced, and they shall 
mourn."* Here is an emphatic description of 
the origin, and attendant feelings, of true repen- 
tance. Until the mind is turned away from con- 
siderations merely collateral, or reflections of mere 
selfishness, and becomes, in some measure, fixed 
on the great sacrifice for sin, every feeling will 
continue unavailing and unacceptable to God. 
But let us suppose the direction of mind to be 
right and decided : The sinner looks to the 
great sacrifice for sin : He beholds the immen- 
sity of the offering, and the corresponding infini- 
ty of guilt for which it was made. He marks 
well the love which paid such a price for the re- 
demption of the transgressor. His heart is pen- 
etrated with a sense of his past ingratitude. He 
is astonished as he traces the previous current of his 
affections. Every gaze deepens emotions which 
produce an effect upon every faculty of his mind. 
His understanding embraces momentous truths 

* Zech. xii : 10, 



294 LETTER XII. 

which had been far in the back ground. In the 
Eastern imagery, adopted by the penitent Eph- 
raim, he is ready to exclaim — " Surely after that 
I was turned I repented ; and after that 1 was in- 
structed, I smote upon my thigh ; 1 was ashamed, 
yea, even confounded !" In the meanwhile an 
insight into the purity of the Divine character 
puts into his mouth the exclamation of the Patri- 
arch of old — " I have heard of thee by the hear- 
ing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee, 
wherefore 1 abhor myself, and repent, in dust 
and ashes." 

One other consideration stands prominently 
out, and flings its light upon the past and the 
present : It is the self accusing thought that he 
whom we have offended, and whose justice might 
have struck us down, pays the vast demand of 
that attribute, and bids us repose, with confidence, 
in the arms of his love. Here is an appeal to 
one of the most powerful principles of the hu- 
man heart : 

1 will suppose you to have exercised a series of 
systematic efforts against the interests of an ac- 
quaintance ; and that the origin of them all was 
in the gratification of your own selfishness, with 
a perfect recklessness of the issue. 1 will sup- 



LETTER XII. 295 

pose that after a lapse of time, you have disco- 
vered that this acquaintance, although aware of 
the inimical part you were acting, was engaged 
all that time in endeavouring to promote your 
own weal, and now, that ruin followed your de- 
portment of evil, he stood between you and de- 
struction. Would you not be confounded by the 
contrast between your own selfishness, and his 
disinterestedness — his love and your own maligni- 
ty ? And would not this be accompanied with 
an utter detestation of your own conduct ? It is 
sometimes said that there is a principle within 
the human breast which indisposes us to love 
those whom we have wronged : and that in pro- 
portion to the injuries we have inflicted, we kin- 
dle an animosity in our own bosoms against their 
object. For the present admit this. Does not 
this hatred arise from a belief that a correspond- 
ing animosity exists in the bosom of the injured 
party f — a belief that discredits or suspects all 
manifestations of good-will. And is it not con- 
nected with a dread of that humiliating feeling 
which arises in a proud mind, on the conferment 
of favours by an enemy ? But suppose the crim- 
inal in this case, to be fully cnnvinced, on reflec- 
tion, that all the good he received, emanated from 



296 LETTER XII; 

pure disinterestedness; and that his benefactor 
was prepared and able, to bury deep in oblivion 
all that was past — an effect not always easily 
conceived in human affairs — might we not look 
for something of a practical and affecting cha- 
racter in the result ? Now, the sinner has been 
sustained by an Almighty arm, through the course 
of his rebellion : and vet benevolence has follow- 
ed him on. If he weigh the consequences of his 
past life with all this in view, he may be agitated 
in the survey ; but the sight of God out of Christ 
will do more than reduce him to despair. The 
very mercies and long suffering of which he has 
been the subject, will increase his hatred of his 
Maker, because they increase his condemnation. 
Change, then, the spectacle before him. Let the 
Saviour appear in the character in which the 
scriptures present him ; and you can easily con- 
ceive how the enlightening of his understanding 
has given a new aspect to his condition and to 
every thing around him. 

In this view of the matter before us there must 
be an apprehension and comprehension of the 
Redeemer, or of the divine mercy through him. 
And it is to such an end that Jesus Christ is re- 
presented as " set forth, or, exhibited," a propi- 



LETTER XII. 297 

tiation through faith in his blood. Faith, then, 
in the order of its agency, precedes repentance. 
The latter grace is certainly highly acceptable to 
God ; " but without faith it is impossible to please 
him," It is some sense, at least, of our personal con- 
cern in the great matter of salvation, which leads 
to repentance. Now the sole or essential diffe- 
rence between a false and true faith consists in 
the object. The careless sinner will tell us that 
he believes in Jesus Christ ; but he has no de- 
fined idea of the object of true faith, because he 
has no feeling or personal interest in it. <And, 
therefore, neither this grace, nor any of its ef- 
fects, can be produced in his heart. 

If, then, a right comprehension of Jesus Christ 
is the true source of repentance, you will easily 
judge of the species of sorrow which accompa- 
nies it. And, in the converse of this, you will 
see why legal conviction of sin will be of no 
avail of itself; while it is transitory in its nature; 
and while the sufferings it produces so readily 
end in a calm which may be mistaken for the 
new-birth, although it may be the incipient chil- 
ling of the second death. It is the repentance 
of one who does not believe, 

38 



298 LETTER XII. 

You observe, too, that evangelical, or Godly 
sorrow, cannot be a temporary effusion. The 
waters of the smitten rock will accompany the 
believer through his pilgrimage. Its source is 
far higher than that of an earthly grief. It may 
not exhibit the same intensity of emotion : but 
the most durable grief that ever occupies the 
bosom is, most usually, silent Its progress, 
though noiseless, is like the current of deep wa- 
ters, regular and irresistible. It is, like a living 
stream, active and effective ; not stagnant and 
still, diffusing the vapours of death around it. 

Nor is true mourning for sin confined to the 
neighbourhood of its first appearance. The 
evangelical penitent exclaims with the Psalmist— 
" rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because 
they keep not thy law."* The iniquities of others 
are distressing to a mind which has ever fairly 
and fully contemplated the Cross. 

All this is the more obvious when you keep in 
mind the distinction that a counterfeit, or spu- 
rious repentance arises from terror ; a passion 
whose legitimate tendency is to banish love from 
the bosom, or rather to interdict its entrance 
there. Previous to the existence of this legal 
conviction, the sinner may have entertained an 

Ps. cxix. 136. 



LETTER Xtf. 299 

idea of his God rather pleasant than otherwise. 
But it arose from that conception of the Divine 
mercy which rather encouraged than depressed 
his feelings of self complacency : this being re- 
moved, and a more full notion of justice coming 
into sight, an external obedience commences 
from a principle of dread. It is the same res- 
traint which is kept on the conduct of the wolf 
by the nearness of the shepherd. It is the same 
obedience which a refractory slave may observe, 
under fear of the lash of his master. Remove 
the apprehension of personal punishment, and 
the dominion of lust will be more powerful than 
ever. It will be found that the momentary check 
gives strength to desire, and passion unrestricted 
flows beyond its former bounds. And it is hence 
we often find the profligacy of those once awak- 
ened more inveterate and determined than it had 
been before. The sorrow had been, rather that 
God hated sin so much, than that they had been 
guilty of it. 

On the contrary, true repentance springs from 
love to God, and a corresponding hatred of all 
that is unlike his holy character. To such a man 
it is not a subject of sorrow that the law is so 
holy, and its penalty so severe. He laments 



JOO LETTER XH. 

that his nature has been in opposition to the sacred 
requirements, and that his inherent carnality is 
so much at variance with his spiritual desires. 

In the first case, aversion was created by the 
very effort to obey, and the distance between 
God and himself was accordingly widened. In 
the second, obedience is a means of keeping the 
affections nearer their object. 

Spurious repentance produces an imperfect ef- 
fect upon the life. This is obvious from its very 
nature. As it does not arise from a just disco- 
very of the evil of sin, and is not connected with 
an abhorrence of it, any change which may be 
produced is partial. It is true the subject may 
make certain sacrifices, in the omission of cer- 
tain practices, or in the discharge of certain du- 
ties : But without jealousy of self, which arises 
from an insight into his own heart : — without 
that law of love, which turns inclination to obe- 
\dience, and puts the safest construction on the 
Divine commands — it is impossible that the re- 
formation of life should be complete. If such a 
man do not content himself with obedience to 
certain requirements which demand little self de- 
nial, and consider this sufficient to cover his neg- 
!cct of those which call for a greater sacrifice ; — 



# 



LETTER XH 30| 

or if he do not play some other and equally com- 
promising part; if he do not commit certain 
evils, he will omit certain duties : if he be res- 
trained from open transgression, he will cherish 
iniquities of the heart. The actings of his mind 
do not come under his careful inspection. There 
is a light rein to the workings of a depraved fan- 
cy. There is no critical scrutiny of his motives. 
There is no inquiry into the tenor of his desires. 
The want of substantial principle excludes all 
possibility of regular and permanent benefit. — 
Even the external appearance of good may be 
temporary, irregular and fitful. Now it is the 
opposite of all this which takes place in a mind 
renewed unto repentance in God. 

In the first of these cases there is no ground 
of humility, because there is no self-loathing, — 
no distressing sensation of the power of indweL 
ling depravity. And the failure, therefore, of an 
attempt to remove any evil is not a matter of 
great uneasiness : because, while it can be attri- 
buted to natural infirmity, he is satisfied in cast- 
ing all the blame there, and acquires a feeling of 
self complacency in the act of doing so. To him 
there is here no additional reason for hating the 
dominion of sin. 



302 LETTER XIL 

The true penitent, on the contrary, exclaims 
with the Apostle on every such discovery — 
11 Oh wretched man that I am, who shall deliver 
me from the body of this death ?" while he sinks 
into the dust of self abasement ; and wonders at 
the extent of that grace which could pardon 
guilt of so deep a die. His faith, and repen- 
tance, and this knowledge of himself, constitute 
the true foundation of humility. Charity for the 
faults of others, and a love for those who bear 
the image of God, are inseparable accompani- 
ments. So true is it, that where one genuine 
grace exists, the rest of the train will likewise be. 

I need not tresspass further on your time by 
describing the fruits of repentance, as they are 
commonly called, in the life of the penitent. — 
The Apostle Paul seems to have summed up all 
these in a short sentence addressed to the Church 
of Corinth : " For behold this self same thing 
that ye sorrowed after a Godly sort, what care- 
fulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing 
of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea what 
fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, 
yea, what revenge !"* 

You see, then, that he who inquires into the 

* U -Cor. vii: 11. 



letter xn. 303- 

meaning and character of true repentance, is 
looking for the evidence of a change of heart, and 
not for that which he is to find previous to his 
approach to God. 

Adieu, Dear Sir, may it be yours to " look 
unto Him," who in dying for our transgressions 
made more manifest our guilt, while he display- 
ed the fullness of his mercy. 

Very truly yours. 



.305 



An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable ge- 
riod in his life — The simplicity of faith — A temptation 
to hold back from Christ — Natural incredulousness — 
The afflicted Father's application to Christ — The case 
applied to the Inquirer — The workings of the Inquirer's 
mind — His surrender to Christ — The change — Difference 
in different cases — The act in which rebef most com- 
monly arrives — Not always the same- — Valedictory. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

To him who entertains a hope that he has 
found the great object of his search, a review of 
his past solicitude, and of the fluctuations of his 
doubts and fears — comprising, as they do, a pain- 
ful history — will end in astonishment at his own 
perverseness. This may not be equally the case 
with all. But their will be few who will not dis- 
cover that much of their time has been expended 
in the removal of misconceptions — in correcting 
errors — in looking for some new rules — in at- 
tempting to pry into the secret purposes of God — 

89 



306 LETTER XIII. 

or to complete the work of the Saviour — in vain 
fancies of the future, or endeavouring to culti- 
vate patience to wait for the gift of faith. A 
retrospect of past life, in its ordinary details, 
presents a melancholy group of circumstances to 
most of us. But a review of the season of con- 
viction of sin, and the application for mercy, 
brings before us a crowd of distressing images. 
We are astonished at an infatuation so visible in 
our present state of mind, and at our great ig- 
norance of things which now appear so perfectly 
plain. But, above all, we wonder at our rejec- 
tion of knowledge, ar our misapplication of 
it ; and at our obstinate efforts to render in- 
tricate and complex, what was distinguished 
by its simplicity. It is now, for the first time, 
we understand the spirit of the Syrian gen- 
eral's reply to the prophet — " Are not Abana 
and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all 
the waters of Israel f" And the force of his ser- 
vant's answer, " My father, if the Prophet had 
bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not 
have done it ? how much rather then, when he 
saith to thee, wash and be clean ?" 

But there may be a period in our history, 
reached before this, when we are able to look 
back, and retrace the relinquishment — thq re- 



better m SO? 

mcfant relinquishment of one point after anoth- 
er, and find ourselves wholly unable to distinguish 
a single remaining impediment visible near us: 
and yet still nothing of a distinctive character on 
which to rest a weaned and disconsolate mind: 
the past a painful survey : the future blank 

14 Poor child of doubt and death, whose hope was built on 
reeds !" 

A state such as this, seems something like a 
pause in the moral career of the subject. There 
is an eventful silence, in which the exhausted 
passions seek a respite from their toil, and the 
flagging spirits, wearied by their excitement, sink 
into the langour of despondency. Or, if no such 
marked effect succeed the restlessness and cha- 
fing of the Inquirer, after he has at last seen all 
hindrances to his salvation resolved into his own 
fault, and his artificial resources from pain re- 
moved — there is most usually still a momentary 
calm broken by a voice that announces a partial 
possession of the very boon that is sought — " f 
ivould believe !" Faith, that wonderful and mys- 
terious principle, relative to which so many sur- 
mises had existed, and which had appeared so 
indefinable, begins, perhaps insensibly, its opera- 
tions in the soul. The Inquirer ascertains that 



3Q^ UET'TER XIII. 

the difficulty of explaining the meaning of the 
term consisted in its very simplicity. And he 
may be astonished in finding himself in the par- 
tial exercise of a grace, relative to the distinc- 
tions of which he had so much perplexed his 
mind. And he easily sees how it is, that many 
who are illiterate and ignorant, and who have 
not lingered on the way in pursuit of meanings 
and distinctions, more readily lay hold of the 
hope of salvation than some whose knowledge is 
greater, and whose understandings have been 
better enlightened. He sees, on the one hand 
the hopelessness of his condition, as it is by na- 
ture ; and, on the other, the suitableness of the 
Divine promises to all the circumstances of his 
case. It is a comparison, such as this, which fits 
his mind for the exercise of belief. The particu- 
lar character of his present state assists him in 
interpreting the Gospel plan, while he beholds its 
adaptation to his own wants ; and an examina- 
tion into this plan, again, — briefly and imperfect- 
ly as it may be done- — corrects and illustrates 
his conceptions of his own condition. He may 
be hardly sensible of the process of such a com- 
parison ; nor perhaps is he often so. Nor would 
k probably occur to him that the degree of his 



LETTER XIII. 309 

faith will be according to the extent of the truth 
which becomes visible to him ; or that faith itself 
may not always correspond with the evidence of 
the truth, but will depend on the manner in 
which that truth affects the mind. He has neith- 
er disposition nor power, in a crisis which has 
enlisted into action every feeling of his heart, as 
well as every faculty of his mind, to watch a 
process by which the Holy Spirit commences a 
work of grace within him. It is enough that 
the wretchedness of his natural state is itself 
complete, and that the tenders of the Lord Jesus 
Christ are exactly suited to the exigencies of his 
own soul. 

It is this survey which gives him confidence to 
cast the whole weight of his spirit on the Re- 
deemer, and to say, with the Christian poet — — 

" A guilty, weak, and helpless worm 
On thy kind arms I fall ; 
Be thou my strength and righteousness, 
My Jesus, and my all." 

It is indeed true that the Inquirer may be 
tempted to hold back from a full confidence in 
Christ, — a consequence of some idea of the glory 
of the object sought, contrasted with his own 
unworthiness. And another case, much resem- 
bling this, is not uncommon. The awakened 



310 LETTER XIII. 

sinner who has seen the ordinary obstructions 
to his faith vanishing one by one, and who has 
a partial glimpse of the excellency of Divine 
grace, may be induced to retreat from it, by that 
infidelity which is natural to some minds, on the 
first receipt of happy intelligence. 1 have some- 
where said that you must have witnessed a di- 
versity of effects from the same intelligence on 
different dispositions. One may drink in the in- 
formation with eagerness and implicit crt dulity : 
another will avow his doubts at once, for no 
other reason than that it is w too good news to 
be true." And thus may it be with the Inquirer 
in the present case. lie cannot believe ; not be- 
cause his sins are too great to be pardoneu ; for 
he may not doubt the sufficiency of the atone- 
ment ; and he may see that honour would accrue 
to the Redeemer, from the recovery of the vilest 
sinner. But he cannot lay hold of a truth, whose 
personal application to himself is to produce so 
amazing an alteration in his present and eternal 
condition. And indeed the same feeling may 
sometimes, and to some extent exist in the mind 
of the Christian himself. There may be a time, 
when his views of the glory of the redeemed, 
and of the value of redemption may, so far over- 



LETTER XIlI. 3| ] 

whelm him with a sense of their grandeur and 
excellence, as to institute a doubt whether he can 
be a partaker. The happy fate of others he does 
not question ; but his own he does not admit. 

The fault here consists in an imperfect view of 
the subject. He distinguishes one part of it, 
while another is hardly visible. The provisions 
of the Gospel are discerned ; but their exact fit- 
ness to his own case is overlooked. The possi- 
bility of mercy is acknowledged ; but its appro- 
priateness to a state obviously his own, is not 
recollected. Here, and in any other instance in 
which a part of the character or design of re- 
demption is forgotten, there is a strong tempta- 
tion to incredulousness. When the Inquirer then, 
is sometimes induced to stand aloof from the of- 
fer of grace, and to exclaim — " the gift seems 
too great for me — I cannot believe that so much 
favour can be mine," his comprehension of the 
subject on which he is occupied is imperfect. 

Or, there mav be another reason for such an 
expression. There may be a self deception of 
which he is not aware. He may be nurturing 
a false humility which he secretly deems accept- 
■able, if not pleasing, to God : and for which he 
looks for a proportionale reward. He forgets 



512 iETtfEfc XIII. 

that it is dishonorable to his Maker to discredit 
the offers on which the Divine veracity is staked ; 
and that, while he considers his diffidence a vir- 
tue, it is challenging the truth of Jehovah. 

Where there was more real candour to itself, 
I have sometimes watched the workings of a 
mind, whose changes were almost distinctly visi- 
ble, and which after all its false reasonings, had 
seen the necessity and duty of an immediate and 
implicit reliance on Jesus Christ. And I have 
thought how strong a resemblance there was 
between such a case, and that of the petitioner 
who said — " I believe, help my unbelief/'* — 
You remember the story well. The afflicted man 
had said — " if thou canst do any thing :" The 
Saviour replies, " if thou canst believe, all things 
are possible to him that believeth :" in other 
words, the hindrance consisted in the weakness 
of faith on the part of the applicant, and not in 
the difficulty in the case itself. A distinction of 
which we are too apt to lose sight. The anxious 
parent receives the reproof, and acknowledges 
its justice; while, at the same time he lays hold 
of the encouragement which the language of the 
Saviour was designed to convey, and exclaims 

* Mark, ix : 23> 24. 



LETTER XIII. 313 

in the words we have quoted. Here was still ari 
obvious imperfection on the part of the applicant. 
He aduiitted that Christ was the Son of God ; 
and while he considered him the last hope, the 
inveteracy of his child's disease staggered any 
confidence he would have reposed in his mira- 
culous power. Of this imperfection he seems to 
have been sensible. And with the emotion of a 
bosom, the seat of a struggle between hope and 
fear, he asks assistance to his wavering mind : 
and asks it with tears. The very act of his pray- 
i er evinced some confidence in the Son of God, 
while it displayed a sense of temptation to dis- 
trust. Acceptable prayer implies some degree of 
faith, even though the subject of that prayer be 
faith itself. And in this instance, the applicant 
indicates his belief in the power and sufficiency 
of Christ, while he asks for assistance to his un- 
belief. And he did what the disciples had done 
before him, when they said— " Lord, increase our 
faith !" 

It is thus the awakened sinner, in sight of his 
lost condition, in view of the sufficiency of Jesus 
Christ, and of his own natural infidelity, cries, 
" help my unbelief!" It is the cry of a burden- 
ed soul, attempting tQ rest the, weight of his cares 

40 



m 



LETTER XIII 



on the Saviour, — seeking assistance to do so-—* 
and complaining of the hardness of a heart which 
weakens his confidence. The light which pours 
into his mind in this effort, discovers more fully 
the depravity he laments, while it reveals to a 
greater extent, the inducements to an uncondi- 
tional surrender of his whole affections. There 
is, probably, not a single prayer adopted by suc- 
cessful Inquirers more general than this: Nor 
one, if this arise from the heart, more frequently 
the immediate precursor of a sensible change, 
I have often thought the whole story itself one of 
the most applicable to the present subject. 

If I were to attempt to describe the workings 
of the Inquirer's mind, when near to this happy 
issue, I should certainly derive that description 
from the discoveries he makes of the Redeemer's 
character. He sees God, as manifested in his 
Son — Justice, as satisfied by his death — mercy, 
as revealed through him. He reflects on the 
World, to form the best estimate of it, by con- 
templating Him who knew not where to lay his 
head : On death, to behold in Christ the resur- 
rection and the life : On the judgement, to see the 
victim of Calvary the occupant of the throne. 
JNor is there any thing connected with the Di- 



LETTER XIII. 3*15 

vine plan of government; nor any thing with 
which the Christian has to do in the concerns of 
eternity, where the person and character of Je^- 
sus Christ do not hold the prominent place.- 6 * 
All — every thing, is resolved into matters belong- 
ing to the offices of the gracious Redeemer.^ 
And how effectually such meditations become 
the means of fastening the attention on the Me* 
diator and Advocate of sinners ; and of impart- 
ing, although perhaps insensibly, a lively faith in 
his name. How difficulties vanish in such an 
engagement, and how freely the sinner exclaims 
in the first act of belief, 

" Jesus, I give myself away, 
'T is all that I can do !" 

Happy moment ! when a sense of ill-desert, of 
confidence in Christ, and grateful love, meet and 
blend together ! 

I am not sure that the particular manner, or 
feelings, with which the Inquirer first lays hold of 
the hope of salvation, differing as they do, in diffe- 
rent persons, deserve much of your considera- 
tion : And yet it may not be amiss to say a few 
words on this subject. 

In some minds, there is a rapid, or even a sud- 
den, transition, from a painful state of moral 






316 LETTER Xlir.. 

darkness, to a condition of light and comfort 
During the act of prayer, or in some moment of 
meditation, the oppressive weight which had 
rested on the heart of the Inquirer, leaves him. 
His views of sovereign mercy are distinct and 
clear. A spirit of humble confidence takes pos- 
session of his bosom. His feelings consciously 
draw him to the contemplation of the riches of 
grace. Hope flings its bright rays around him. 
Every thing appears changed. Every thing 
is new. A smile of heavenly cheerfulness 
plays on the very works of nature. A re- 
conciled God shines in them all. And the 
gloom, which had so recently lowered over every 
object that met the eye, has passed away, like 
the morning cloud. The Inquirer is astonished 
at himself; astonished at a transition so utterly 
unaccountable, and unexpected. Whence this 
wonderful alteration in external things? The 
change is in his own mind, and not in them. 
Whence that disposition to a full confidence in 
his Saviour, so different from his late waverings 
and fears ? He cannot himself comprehend it; 
nor can he retrace a single step to it. He can on- 
ly say, like one restored of old, u whereas I was 
blind, now I see !" 



\ 



LETTER Xin. 317 

Oh, how different is all this from his former 
fanciful expectations ! How unlike all that ima- 
gination had figured ! And how may it remind 
him of that memorable prophecy of a Saviour's 
power — " I will bring the blind by a way that 
they knew not ; I will lead them in paths that 
they have not known! I will make darkness 
light before them, and crooked things straight.' 5 * 

Wonderful, transforming influence ! Myste- 
rious and silent agency ! And the subject of this 
astonishing change half questions a reality which 
his sober judgement on every appeal, confirms. 
He inquires of his own heart — " Is it that 1 have 
lost sight of my sinfulness — and that my forget- 
fulness of guilt has produced this peace from the 
contrast with its painful rememberance ? No : 
Guilt never assumed a form so horrible before : 
sin was never so loathsome, and purity never so 
lovely. I look back, to see the narrow plank over 
which I have passed, and I shudder at the yawn- 
ing abyss below it. The moral atmosphere I 
breathe gives vigour to my exhausted spirit. My 
desires expand — My appetite craves a new suste- 
nance for the soul. Tell me, is not this of 

God? 

• Is. xiii : 16* 



51 # LETTER XIII. 

Memorable epoch ! memorable through eter- 
nity. It is the commencement of life : all before 
it was the spectacle of putrefaction and death. 

But the moment, the hour, or the day, is far 
less marked in the experience of others. A 
more common case, perhaps, is that in which 
the light breaks on the understanding, like the 
gradual approach of the morning dawn : It was 
the prayer of the prostrate soul 

" Come, then, thou Crucified, my mourning thoughts 

" Oh sanctify ! reveal thy bleeding form 

" To me, miserable. Oh impart 

" Thy mercy, while I seek — 

44 Thy presence. Lo, I come all penitent, 

" Bowing to earth oppressed" 

And the petition flows with an earnestness and 
fervour hitherto unknown. No Divine influence 
is imagined. And yet the petitioner is surprized 
at a new intensity of feeling; a freedom of ut- 
terance ; a sweet and lovely calm, well marked 
in opposition to the experience of hours gone by. 
And yet still the mist is not completely scatter- 
ed. The sensible alteration that exists is not suf- 
ficient to create a holy joy. Assurance is want- 
ing. Desire is more importunate. And, in the 
sense of partial discovery, the Inquirer exclaims, 
like the blind man of Bethsaida, " I see men, as 



^' 



LETTER XIII. 3|9 

trees, walking."* And it may be that another — 
or even another accession of light, is necessary to 
unfold, clearly, the object of a holy confidence : 
The march of the understanding and affections 
regular and steady onwards : and the progressive 
effects which succeed each other, give, in turn, 
additional reasons, for a complete trust in the 
promise of salvation. Reflections and compari- 
son confirm that trust. And the recovered soul 
advances, with certain pace, to the enjoyment of 
heavenly peace. 

But " he went his way rejoicing," is not to be 
told of all. There are those who, from reasons 
already assigned, never participate in the more 
elevated enjoyments which belong to the expe- 
rience of others. A physical constitution natu- 
rally cold, or defective views, in some few parti- 
culars, may keep the mind in a degree of sus- 
pense, even through the remainder of life. But 
still the subject of our remarks, discovers a change 
Within himself which is obviously from on high* 
The charms of the world have faded away : — 
Their insufficiency and vanity are conspicuous to 
his sight. Sin assumes a greater and greater dis- 
gust of aspect. The value of the soul, and the 
mercies of Christ, are more distinctly discerned. 

* Mark, viii : 24, 



320 LETTER Xllt 

And if there be no ardour In his devotions, it is 
not because his heart is elsewhere, for these fur- 
nish his dearest hours, if he cannot " tune the 
enraptured lay ;' ? and soar with a lighter and a 
freer spirit, there is a regularity in the movements 
of the soul. If the language of some of the 
songs of Zion is sometimes too high strung for 
the measure of his feelings, those feelings accord 
with its spirit still. He loves to contemplate what 
the redeemed admire, while he laments the op- 
pressive weight that restrains his flight. The 
world shall behold him the consistent Christian. 
And his pursuits, in their seriousness and steadi- 
ness, shall tell the direction of his prevailing 
taste and desires. He recognizes a sustaining 
hand, that upholds him in his ways ; but his faith 
furnishes no cup of positive delight. 

Or there may be other gradations of feeling, 
somevvhat different from either of these, arising 
from the character of the mind, the circumstan- 
ces under which it acts, or the manner of the 
Divine influence. Yet all these variations are of 
secondary importance. It is enough that the 
heart is transferred from the world to God : that 
its affections have a new home. The degree of 
spiritual enjoyment is not the primary test of a 



LETTER Xlir. 



321 



renewed soul : And the measurement of its in- 
crease is not always a profitable employment. 

Nor can the act by which consolation first 
comes to the mind be always distinguished as 
the same. Some passage of Scripture is fre- 
quently rendered the instrument of dispersing the 
surrounding gloom, and opening an avenue to 
hope. And yet that passage may have come 
unsought, and at a time when the thoughts had 
taken a different direction. Or, when despair 
has completely overwhelmed the soul, an unex- 
pected relief may reach the sufferer without dis- 
tinguishable means, at the very moment in which 
a sense of his helplessness is most distressing. 

I am confident that most Christians who can 
recur to the first day of relief — for all are by no 
means able to do so — date their change in the 
act of prayer, or in that of pondering the Divine 
Word. But the great Re-creator of hearts makes 
use of instruments which seemed to have no con- 
nexion with so important an end. An exempla- 
ry Christian, "whose praise is in all the churches,'? 
owed his first sense of a change to an ordinary 
incident of life : His child was engaged in read- 
ing aloud a portion of Grecian history. The 
father had been absorbed in a melancholy review 

n 



322 



LETTER XIII. 



of his past life ; and in a kind of vacant gaze on 
the dreariness of the present prospect ; when his 
attention was awakened by the following anec- 
dote : 

Alexander the Great had promised a courtier, 
who had rendered hhn some signal service, what- 
ever reward he might ask. On the credit of 
this promise, the favourite drew an exorbitant 
order on the royal treasury. The Treasurer, 
astonished, took the order to his master. Alex- 
ander looked at it for a moment, and then said 

to the officer ■" This proves how generously 

my friend thinks of my love : He proportions 
his demand to his trust in my affection. Pay the 

amount." ■ — -The train of reflections which 

succeeded in the mind of the Parent, bpgan a 
new era in his life. " Have I" — thought he, — 
" been soliciting the friend of sinners, with a 
cherished doubt of his willingness to do all that 
he offers ? Have 1 intimated a discredit of his 
truth, who gave his life a ransom for the mise- 
rable ? I vMl believe. And his ovyn goodness 
shall interpret my confidence." There may seem 
little connexion between the story and the results 
to which it led. But it is impossible to tell the 
associations to which any incident may carry 



LETTER XIII. 323 

us : or to augur those unaccountable evolutions 
of thought to which we are all accustomed. — 
And we know how readily the mind brings and 
appropriates to its favourite pursuit, all that passes 
before it. 

And now, Dear Sir, farewell ! I take leave of 
this subject, after placing these hints in your 
hands, with an humble hope that the Great Hear- 
er of prayer may sanctify my feeble efforts to 
relieve your anxiety : And with some confi- 
dence in commending you to Him who can say 
to your own soul, with the same power with 
which he spake in the beginning of creation, 

:{ LET THERE BE LIGHT !" 

Very truly Yours. 



:-; m . ■ '< 



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